Perfection Doesn't Exist
by Vitaani
Summary: Takes place when Erik has just moved into the opera house, shortly after his escape from Persia. He's given up on society but he's not totally mad with solitude quite yet. When there's an influx of new chorus members, can he find someone who can see his peculiar brand of perfection?
1. Chapter 1

Erik internally sighed as he took in his dank and dark surroundings. The fifth cellar was, of course, his own secret handiwork, but he couldn't help the hopelessness rising in his chest at its current state. It was utterly barren. There wasn't even lighting other than the small lantern he had brought with him. He tried to envision living out the rest of his life in this _hole_ , but he couldn't.

But then, that was the problem, wasn't it? What other choice did he have? Live above and be ignored, ridiculed, mocked, _displayed_? No. Never again. He had spent two decades on this poor excuse for a planet, and he'd traveled it extensively. Kindness, compassion, _love_ , all good things worth living for were denied him. He had begun to believe that they didn't exist at all, that they were merely beautiful ideas that people had created to hide their own selfish and vain motivations. Yes, it was better to live alone forever than to be forced to face the awful truth and horror of humanity, and this was the ideal space. He'd fashioned it specifically for that very purpose, after all.

He looked around again and tried to envision what his home would look like when it was finally finished. A large, well-lit, and warm house in the spaces carved out of the earth. With a lake in front, like a moat. Yes, a moat for the king of the underworld. If he was to be forced to live apart from all others, he would live like a king. His home would have the best furniture, the most modern conveniences, a pipe organ! He would build the most beautiful instrument on the face of the earth!

He took a deep breath and sang a pentatonic scale so that he could hear the acoustical properties of his future home.

 _Flawless._ He closed his eyes in fleeting victory. His calculations had been perfect. The space would serve his music well. A small smirk of a smile appeared on his wasted face as his mood began to change. He would make this grave into a home, as pleasant a one as was possible, and he would rule the opera house above like the most fearsome emperor who ever lived.

Living alone needn't be lonely. He could be quite happy here, with his music and his books and all the comfort his ill-earned fortune could buy. If he grew desperate enough, he could always entertain himself with the dramas of the thespians and musicians above. There were sure to be plenty. He could even manipulate himself into their stories if he found he needed to keep one tenuous string attached to society.

He glanced around once more, making calculations and mental blueprints as he did so. Surely, there was much work to be done, and he would have to do it all himself, but it was possible. It wasn't as if he had any other plans eating up his time. He grinned in an imperfect joy at the vision of his future life of absolute solitude. The hopelessness in his chest was gone and was replaced with a manic sense of determination and urgency. So, swiftly and silently, he began to build. 

Erik paced the halls of the now fully-functioning opera house, thinking. It was long past midnight, and everyone else had either left altogether or gone to their dormitories on the other end of the building. Erik mused over his new life as the opera's resident ghost with a surprising lack of bitterness. He had a daily routine now; working on schemes and plans for the opera itself in the morning, working on his own music and other various projects in the afternoon, and stealing what he needed from above while patrolling the corridors at night. It all had a strange sense of, dare he think it, _normalcy_. Not that he or his life were in any way normal, of course, but that he had secured a steady rhythm, a pleasant beat for his day-to-day living that allowed him to find, while not happiness, at least something akin to contentment.

He controlled the opera's season and casting choices from behind the scenes. He had grown, not attached certainly, but fond of a few players. There was one Gustave Daae, the first violinist, who played very well, even by Erik's exacting standards. He was a gentle young man of Scandinavian origin, only a few years older than Erik, and he loved music almost as much, so Erik couldn't help but feel a sort of kinship with the man. In fact, Erik had decided to be benevolent one day when he heard that Gustave was newly married and forced the managers to give him three days off to be with his new wife, along with 500 francs for a wedding gift. If it had been any other man, or perhaps any other week, Erik would have been pushed into a minor depression with the reminder of what happinesses could never be his, but it was Gustave, and the opera had just given a rather good run of _The Magic Flute_ , so Erik was feeling generous.

Then there was a woman, also a few years older than Erik, by the name of Antoinette Giry whom he had accidently let see him one night. He couldn't believe his own carelessness at being caught in box five, _humming_ _along_ of all the ridiculous nonsense, but he was lucky. Antoinette happened to be just the right combination of superstitious and ambitious in order for Erik to manipulate her into being his delivery woman. All he had to do was appear before her in his mask, throw his voice around a bit, and promise her that she would be the new ballet mistress. It was painfully easy, and Erik didn't give a damn about the ballet, so this arrangement worked well. Madame Giry proved to be more than capable as a ballet mistress and Erik's methods of delivering his commands and retributions became much more efficient than before. The woman was strict, but fair, and she was loyal, which moved Erik to feel a sort of fondness for her. He left her chocolates or other small tokens in box five occasionally. It was a mutually beneficial relationship, and a soul like Erik's simply couldn't go forever without giving _something_ to _someone_ as a demonstration of feeling. He had a ridiculous and sick inner drive to make the people he was fond of happy, though he tried to suppress it as often as he could.

Then there were the children of the opera house. There weren't many, and none lived there, but some of the costume seamstresses and cleaning women brought their children to work with them during the day. Erik didn't mind so long as the children didn't interrupt rehearsal or utterly destroy anything. Erik rather liked children, actually. Some of them had an innocence about them that most of humanity lacked. They hadn't all learned to be vain, pretentious, and cruel yet, though some had certainly learned those lessons well. There was one boy, Denis, big for his age, that Erik particularly disdained. He was absolutely terrible, for no good reason, to one of the smaller boys, young Remy. Remy happened to have eyes of two different colors, and _naturally_ that doomed him to a childhood of ridicule from the Denis-es of the world. Erik thought often of frightening the bully into decent behavior, but he always decided against it. It was better for Remy to learn young that the world could and would be cruel to him if he was different. This way, he could learn to compensate for his genetics and find a way to fit into society early. It would be more cruel than his current situation if he was fooled into believing humanity was fair and then doused with the icy water of disappointment later. As long as there was no physical assault, Erik vowed not to intervene. He didn't see any harm, however, in occasionally leaving interesting toys or pieces of candy for the small boy to discover in one of his many "hide-from-Denis" places.

Erik also enjoyed the playful fear he inspired in some of the ballet rats and the younger chorus mice. He took an easy pleasure in playing small tricks on them or indulging them with some harmless thumps and ghostly moans when they ventured into the first cellar in an attempt to "meet" the ghost. None of them ever made it anywhere near the fifth cellar, of course. That was imperative. But he didn't begrudge them their fun as long as they did their jobs fairly well and didn't go making up silly _romances_ to fill in the "ghost's" backstory. Which they did. Often.

"I heard that he was a contractor who begged to be buried alive when his lady left him!" as if any builder would willingly bury a contractor alive.

"Well I heard that he jumped from the roof after his wife discovered that his mistress was pregnant!" Erik was a bit of a Don Juan, after all. Of course. Having two women to love in one lifetime would certainly be grounds for jumping from the roof. Naturally. Needless to say, Erik did not find these tales amusing. The first few times, he left little notes on the beds of the perpetrators calling them liars in blood red ink. That shut them up for a while, but even Erik could not stop the gossip hounds of the theatre. He eventually just accepted it as the one downside to his life arrangement and went back to switching their hair ribbons or shoes around when no one was paying attention. It wasn't noble or high-brow entertainment, but it made a fun break for his restless mind when he could no longer focus on whatever particular grindstone his nose was to at the moment. Well, his metaphorical nose anyway.

Erik continued down the corridor as his thoughts wandered to his plans for the coming day. He would need to remind the managers to keep the diva in check. She enjoyed "embellishing" the music where she clearly wasn't supposed to, and when she clearly wasn't any good at it. He would have to take her down a peg or two if she didn't find her proper place soon enough. And then there were the new chorus members starting tomorrow. Erik allowed the managers to hire whatever chorus members they pleased as long as none of them proved to be absolutely unbearable, and so he had skipped watching the auditions last week. He would have to listen to the entire rehearsal tomorrow to make sure they were all at least competent singers. It would be boring, but it was - suddenly, Erik's thoughts were interrupted by a strange noise coming from one of the boxes. Coming from _his_ box!

He crept closer to the noises and was able to discern exactly what they were. There were two people, and they sounded for all the world like they were... _copulating_. What was this?! Erik couldn't believe they would have the nerve! In his box! He peaked his head around to look at the couple, to confirm that they were doing what he thought they were doing, and sure enough he was correct. There was one of the older ballerinas with one of the tenors, against a wall, making absurd motions and even more absurd noises. He was running kisses along her neck and shoulder while she clutched at his hair. Obviously, Erik turned away immediately.

How could they?! Erik wrestled with the urge to strangle both of them, his punjab lasso gripped tightly in his left hand. How dare they! He wasn't sure what fueled his rage more: the debasement of his box, the sting of witnessing what he could never know firsthand, or the perverse reaction a part of him had to said witnessing. He tried to stamp out these urges at all costs, and yet here these people were, out in the open, in _his box!_ But he couldn't strangle them. Murder would be bad for business. Instead, he hid himself behind a wall and threw his voice into a menacing roar: "GET OUT!" and, well, they did. With the tenor even forgetting to button his trousers in his hurry. Erik pulled some minor satisfaction from this, but his evening was nevertheless completely ruined. He returned to his house on the lake to compose a particularly dark fugue and furtively attempt to forget the ideas that ran through his mind and why he would never be allowed to experience any of them.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Erik dragged himself out of his depressed reverie to inspect the new chorus members as planned. He managed to convince himself that he simply could _not_ allow his pathetic self-pity to interfere with the quality of his opera. Work would come first, and with any luck it would drive the demons out of his brain. Or at least suppress them to the back of it.

He donned his mask and his cloak and made his way across the lake and up into the opera. He found, however, that he couldn't bear to be in his usual box. Not today. He sat in box four instead, and even though the acoustics weren't exactly perfect and the shadows weren't quite as deep, he found those flaws more pleasant than the distracting images that would assault him in box five. He hid himself well within the curtains and felt, if not entirely secure against discovery, at least relatively safe from the casual observer. And so he began to search for the new faces.

There were five new singers in all, three men and two women, though Erik couldn't know their voice parts yet. One of the men seemed a bit old and rather rotund to be singing in a chorus, but Erik supposed it was alright as long as he was musically competent and able to handle the physical exertion. The other two men were both a bit older than Erik, but still of working age, perhaps in their early thirties. Nothing seemed immediately amiss with either of them. One of the women, a tall, blonde lady, was also of their apparent age, and her posture was _terrible_. Probably because she wanted to make herself seem shorter than she was because society thought it more feminine. Ridiculous on every level, but Erik couldn't begrudge her the attempt. If he could make himself more acceptable by slouching, he would do it in a heartbeat. As long as her posture improved when she sang, Erik decided not to care. The other woman was a short redhead, at least a decade younger than all the other new members, but as long as her immaturity didn't show through in her voice she would be just fine. Having identified all his targets, Erik waited semi-patiently for the rehearsal to begin.

Erik sat through the first two acts of the current production and discovered that the older man and one of the younger two were basses, and that the younger one insisted upon singing from the back of his throat and sounding like a frog. The elder was surprisingly good, though certainly not great. The other man was a tenor and he seemed decent enough. The blonde woman was an alto, and actually had quite a lovely voice when her posture and breathing were kept in check. She could do well with a little instruction. The redhead was a soprano and her voice was clear and even and would blend well with the others though she would never be prima donna material. Altogether, Erik was surprised to find that the managers had done a decent hiring job for once in their shams of musical careers. The only new member who would need heavy correction was the younger bass. Of course it was one the singers Erik had visually assessed as the most fit. Erik smirked at the black humor of the thought.

Given that most of the new singers seemed competent, Erik considered leaving the rehearsal early during the lunch break and returning to work on his own compositions. That was his usual schedule after all, and he'd only planned on altering it today to make sure the new employees were acceptable. He had just begun to exit the box when he heard small sounds of distress, like a child in tears. It was probably Remy, and sure enough when Erik turned his glance back toward the stage he discovered the small boy walking in the auditorium in search of his mother. Erik smiled at what a good boy Remy was to wait until the lunch break.

The majority of the cast ignored the boy's tears, not because they were heartless but because the weeping was such a common occurrence. Boys of five do tend to do that when they aren't socially accepted. Erik would know.

The new men had left with the other male chorus members on their way to some tavern or other for a quick bite and a drink. Erik frowned at the realisation that he would have to stay through at least half of the afternoon rehearsal to make sure they could all manage to be responsible with their midday alcohol consumption.

The two new ladies, however, were still in the auditorium and had not had time to become desensitised to the child. And so they were concerned and asked him what was wrong.

"I'm just looking for my mama," the boy replied, carefully keeping one eye shielded from the ladies so that they would think he was normal. Erik thought it was strong of him to show neither his abnormality nor his heart to these strangers and instead just ask for his mother. The boy was learning that the entire world neither knew nor cared for his personal problems. Erik smiled at the quick progress.

"Who is your mama?" the blonde woman asked in a sincere attempt to help. Unfortunately, Erik knew that Remy's mother had left to purchase fabric for costumes and would not return for at least forty-five minutes.

"I'm sorry I don't know where your mother is. I'm sure she'll come back soon, though. No reason to cry," the blonde said to the boy.

"Would you like one of us to stay with you until she gets back?" the redhead asked kindly. The boy shook his head no but did not turn to leave the women. The two ladies looked at each other in a shared sense of confusion and deliberation.

"I'll stay with him, Elise," the redead said to the blonde. "You go have lunch with the others."

"You're sure, Helene?" the blonde asked. She left when the soprano, Helene apparently, nodded and plastered on a smile.

Helene sat down on the edge of the stage, smoothing her skirts as she did so. She patted the space next to her and smiled at the boy in an invitation for him to sit with her. Remy looked uncertain for a moment, but then sat tentatively, all the while looking at the ground. The woman smiled and held out her hand to the boy.

"I'm Helene" she introduced herself. "I just started work here today, so I don't know many people. What's your name?"

"Remy" the boy replied taking the lady's hand and respectively kissing her knuckle as his mama had taught him. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mademoiselle Helene."

"And I am very pleased to meet you, Remy. Why were you looking for your mama? Is there anything I can help you with? You seemed very sad about something."

"I'm alright, truly." Erik couldn't help but be proud. The boy was so young to keep his emotions to himself like that. He made a mental note to leave an extra special toy for Remy next time.

"Are you sure? You seem like a very strong boy. I bet you don't cry very easily. Something must have hurt you pretty deeply to make you need your mother." The woman was trying to help. She really was, but Erik knew that she couldn't. She really should just let the boy be alone and figure out his problems for himself.

Remy looked carefully at Helene from the corner of his eye and studied her for quite some time before sighing and letting his shoulders droop.

"The others won't let me play with them because I'm a freak." Well, maybe Remy wasn't quite as strong as Erik thought. That soprano had tried her hardest to pry the truth from him, though, so Erik couldn't fault him for it. He _was_ just a boy.

"A freak? What on Earth makes you think that?"

"My eyes are two different colors." Remy turned his head to look Helene in the face for the first time, finally letting her see how strange he was. Erik waited with a grim sense of inevitability for the lady to become uncomfortable and end the conversation, even if only because she couldn't think of anything comforting to say. Erik wouldn't blame her. There wasn't anything suitably comforting to say. Nothing that would be true, anyway.

"Oh, so they are! But that doesn't make you a freak, Remy." ...Or, Erik supposed, she could try and fail miserably instead.

"It doesn't?"

"No, darling! Of course not! In fact, I am a little jealous of you."

"Jealous?" Erik agreed with Remy's assessment. This was just ridiculous.

"Why yes! You see, most people, myself included, only get to have one eye color, but you get to have two. Two is so much less boring than one. Don't you think? And you're lucky that both of your eyes are beautiful colors too."

"Beautiful?" The child was both confused and elated with this assessment he'd never heard before. Erik, however, couldn't decide if this Helene was the kindest woman in the opera or the cruelest. She might temporarily convince little Remy that he was acceptable, even welcome, but what would she do the next time he was barred from happiness for being unconventional? She couldn't always pull this same trick. Either it would stop working or she would run out of sympathy. The child would inevitably be terribly disappointed. For now, though, Erik could only listen to the rest of the present conversation.

"Yes, beautiful. One is a very pleasant sky blue, and you know everyone thinks blue eyes are the best. They're the ones the poets always talk about when they mention their loves' eyes. And the other is green like the trees in summer, and I happen to think green eyes are quite pretty, don't you?" Erik smirked. This, at least, was clever of Helene. The fact was that most of society did not favor green eyes at all, and she knew it. Her own eyes were an emerald color, though, so polite little Remy would never say he disagreed with her.

The boy looked wide-eyed at the woman for a solid twenty seconds, his mouth hanging slightly open, a bit like a fish. "Well, I - Yes. Green eyes are very pretty." He said for lack of a better response.

"Well then you must see how lucky you are to have two such wonderful eyes. When you're grown, I bet you'll be astonishingly handsome." She punctuated this sentence with a quick kiss to the boy's forehead. Erik was, well, touched for lack of a better word. Even if this advice wasn't useful to Remy later, Erik supposed it was good for the boy to have a pleasant memory like this. It might help take some of the sting out of future rejection.

"Do you really think so? Truly?" the boy asked hopefully.

"I do, and if any of the other children disagree with me, then you just tell them what I said. And if they still don't believe you, you can send them to me and I'll tell them myself." Remy threw his arms around the woman's neck in a display of emotion he simply did not have the faculty to hold in. Helene's hands went to gently pat him on the back as she smiled softly.

"Thank you. Thank you, Mademoiselle Helene. Even if it's not real, thank you!" And with that, the boy ran off, leaving Helene to raise an eyebrow at the second half of his exclamation.

Erik watched as the scene came to an end and allowed himself a small smile at the confirmation of at least one of his suspicions. Remy didn't fully believe what Helene had said at all, but he was grateful nonetheless. Erik knew that one kind conversation and one kiss was not enough to wipe out a lifetime of ridicule, even if that lifetime was as short as Remy's. However, perhaps Remy could find some confidence and a sort of friend in this new soprano. Erik made a mental note to watch her more carefully in the future. At the very least, the novelty would be interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

Erik had spent every spare minute watching Helene for the past week and a half, and the few discoveries he'd made only managed to confuse him. She was a very kind and personable woman, but she was also manipulative. She would spend her lunches with people who were not generally accepted by the rest of the company even though she was always invited along with the bigger crowd, and she was very sweet to Remy and continued to call him handsome and serve as his comforter. However, she was also very careful to find the good side of the conductor and of the managers. She was a shameless flatterer to people in power, and it had already resulted in those fools awarding her with a pay raise. If Erik cared more about money, he would have her fired. She had also befriended Antoinette, though only Heaven knew why. Unless Helene had some secret ballet ambition, Antoinette would be utterly useless to her.

What's more, she seemed to switch personalities depending upon whom she was around at the time. When she was in the company of the ballet rats, she seemed strong, sensible, occasionally crass, a strange cross between a mother and a street fighter, but when she was around certain older people or (especially) men, she would pretend to be demure, almost sickeningly sweet, sometimes downright submissive. And it actually _worked_. This woman was liked by just about every member of the company, but none of them knew who she actually was. Not even Erik. She was liked best for the things she pretended to be, and she knew it would be to her advantage to be well liked, even at the cost of preserving the consistency of her personality.

The only traits she seemed to hold sacred were her intelligence and about half of her moral conscience. Though she was indeed a grand liar, Erik had never seen her be intentionally cruel or hurtful to anyone and she apologized quickly if she harmed someone through a thoughtless accident. And, to her credit, she never pretended to be stupid even if that would have been to her advantage when it came to certain people. After all, to some men, a woman's brain is her least attractive part. She frequently corrected people if they were wrong, though she did so in as friendly a manner as was possible. She didn't allow someone else to field a question she knew the answer to. Apparently, ignorance was the one lie she refused to tell. Though, admittedly, Erik hadn't observed very many of her interactions with the men of the company, only the managers and the conductor. He seemed to always miss her moments with her actual male peers, if she even had any. After all, Erik couldn't very well spend every waking moment spying on some woman he'd never even met! Anyway, quite frankly, Erik didn't know whether he admired or despised the woman for her particular skillset.

One day, during an afternoon of principles-only rehearsal, the ballet rats decided it was time to perform their ridiculous little initiation ceremony on the younger set of the new employees. The recruits so generously afforded the honor were Helene, one particularly handsome new stagehand boy, and a very young but talented new ballerina named Sorelli. The initiation ceremony, of course, involved the new recruits spending two whole minutes alone in the dark cellars without a light source. Generally, this terrified the little cowards and at least one of them would feel a rat run by and scream that the phantom had touched them. Overly imaginative little ingrates. Usually, Erik avoided this particular spectacle unless he was in either an unusually mean or unusually playful mood, but Helene was a part of this specific show and Erik wanted very much to see how she would react.

The ballet rats and friends brought the three new members to the entrance to the first cellar and informed them of the requirements for membership in "their" opera company. Helene was blank-faced, probably trying to figure out how to best play the situation to her advantage, Sorelli seemed frightened out of her wits, the poor girl, and the boy just seemed genuinely confused as to why he was here among all these females and why on Earth he would want to go into a dark cellar. Upon observing her two compatriots' reactions, Helene seemed to be struck with inspiration.

"So you mean we can't really find a pleasant social place here until we've played this little game?" She asked their captors.

"I'm afraid not. It's tradition," replied Vivienne, the informal leader of the pack of tutued harpies.

"Oh, but I don't even believe in the phantom, and I do so hate the dark! And rats! And spiders! You can't really mean you'd force us to go?" Ah. Erik understood she was going to try to get them out of it. It wouldn't work.

"I'm sorry, but those are the rules. However, we'll be right outside the door and we'll come in if you scream."

Helene looked plaintive as her focus abruptly switched to the stagehand. "Jacques, darling, you seem like a brave, strong, lad. You'll go in before us two ladies, won't you? To make sure it's alright for us? It would be so heroic of you," she pleaded as she twirled her hair. Oh, disgusting! Erik rolled his eyes at her coquettish behavior.

However, it worked. Jacques the stagehand nodded immediately and replied that _of course_ he would protect the ladies and go in first.

"Oh, that really is so very kind of you, darling!" Helene said as she laid her hand upon his. This, more than anything, bothered Erik immensely, though he couldn't for the life of him understand why. Perhaps it was just that she was so good at getting what she wanted and he envied her.

The young man walked into the cellar with his head held high and smiled at Helene as the others shut the door behind him. Once he was alone, however, his breathing began to quicken and his eyes widened in fearful vigilance. Erik almost chuckled. This simpering _boy_ was merely putting on a show for the girls. He was just as superstitious and silly as they were. Erik found himself in a cruel mood and thumped his fists on the walls, causing the boy to let out a mewling whimper. Admirably, he did not scream. Apparently his wish to impress the ladies was stronger than his fear of strange noises in the dark. He at least had that going for him, Erik supposed.

When Jacques's two minutes were up, the doors were opened and he attempted to train his face into a smile, though it appeared a little shaky and watery in reality. Helene gave a dazzling smile in return, though, and congratulated him on how well he had done. She asked if anything had happened and she furrowed her brow to indicate how worried she supposedly was.

"Nothing at all," Jacques replied as he swallowed thickly. "I just waited in the dark for the door to open. It wasn't at all frightening." The liar.

"Oh, that is indeed wonderful to hear, darling!" Helene placed her hand on his shoulder. "Thank you so much. I'll go in next and you can tell little Sorelli here all about how boring and un-phantom-filled it was." Oh. Erik felt suddenly ashamed of himself. What if all this acting had been for Sorelli's benefit and not Helene's? The girl was quite young, though she had all the grace of the average adult ballerina already, and she had indeed seemed terribly frightened. Perhaps Helene wanted to _seem_ scared in order to alleviate some of the girl's fear. That didn't excuse the unnecessary flirtation, but it at least explained some of her silliness.

The redhead gamely stepped into the cellar and smiled at the girl as the others closed the door. The minute the doors were closed, she sighed and let her face and shoulders fall as if she felt relieved.

"I really do hate spiders, though," she said to no one in particular. Of course she hated spiders, Erik thought. They're ugly and not at all malicious. What's not to hate?

She turned around in place in an effort to make out her surroundings even though it was plainly impossible. "Well, Monsieur Fantome, if you're real, would you mind terribly giving me some light?" she asked in obvious jest. She really didn't believe in the phantom at all. Erik grinned menacingly as he turned to face her, knowing she would see his eyes.

She did. She saw two glowing yellow eyes in the dark, and her eyes widened and her mouth gaped, though she did not scream. She was taken aback for a moment, but then she found herself again.

"That's not really what I meant, sir," she stuttered. What was this woman?! She was clearly afraid but she pretended as if she wasn't, and there wasn't even anyone to pretend _for_ right now! It was just her and Erik!

Erik stared at her perplexedly for about ten seconds before lighting the lamp and retreating into the shadows before she could really see him. Her focus went immediately to the light as she blinked in an effort to force her eyes to adjust.

"Thank you," she managed to gasp out. She stared fixedly into the shadows, undoubtedly trying to make out his form among them. Erik retreated a bit out of caution though he knew very well that she could not see him.

"I'm still not sure if you're actually him or if you're just a member of the company sent here to scare me, but either way I have a favor to ask." What on Earth could she possibly ask of him, Erik wondered.

"There's a little girl coming in after me, and I would be immensely grateful if you would leave her entirely alone. Don't pull any of these tricks with her, please. She's scared enough already." This woman was amazing and impudent all at once.

"Also, I'd appreciate it if you snuffed out the lamp now. The others will accuse me of bringing matches and cheating." In a sort of daze, Erik did as she asked. This was the most surprising interaction he'd had in his entire life, and that was saying something.

A few seconds later, as the door opened again, Helene smiled broadly and exclaimed that nothing had happened at all! There hadn't even been a single spider!

"Don't be afraid, Sorelli. Nothing will hurt you," she smiled at the girl as she motioned her in.

Erik did as Helene had asked and left the poor girl alone. He wasn't a monster, after all. Or, well, he might be, but he certainly didn't go scaring little girls just for the perverse fun of it.

When the strange ritual was over and all three recruits had passed the test, the young company began to leave. Helene smiled kindly at Sorelli as the girl joined the other ballerinas, proud of her bravery. Helene and Jacques walked toward the rear of the group and the redhead put her hand gently around his arm as if he were her escort.

"Thank you for being so brave, Jacques. Sorelli and I really needed you," she smiled gently up at the boy as he smiled bashfully back, and Erik didn't know what to make of any of it. Perhaps she wasn't being a coquette earlier. (But she had seemed so cliche!) Perhaps she was genuinely fond of the boy! This did not sit well with Erik at all, though he couldn't pinpoint the exact reason _why_. He supposed that after a lifetime without any affection of any kind, Erik was just jealous that all the boy seemed to have to do to earn it was sit quietly in the dark for two minutes. Erik had sat in his mother's dark attic for six years! And then in his dark sideshow freak's cage for seven more before he escaped to Italy! And all of that trouble hadn't earned him even a scrap of the care this woman seemed to just give away on a regular basis! Erik retreated back to his home. He felt the need to write something unbearably dissonant.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey pigeons! I'm glad to see y'all are enjoying the story so far! I'm not really sure about this chapter or the next one (coming within the next two days), so I would especially appreciate any feedback you can give me on these two chapters. Criticism and praise are equally welcome! I just honestly want to know what you think.**

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Erik continued to watch Helene in his spare time for the next month and a half, but he still couldn't seem to get a handle on what exactly the woman's character was. The closest he had come to the real Helene was those two minutes in the first cellar, and all that had done was shock him into a temporary state of submission and a seemingly permanent state of confusion. Erik was convinced that if he could only get her alone for an extended period of time, perhaps an hour or two, he could find the piece that made the rest of the puzzle make sense. He wouldn't even have to interact with her, just observe how she acted when she truly thought no one was watching. The idea was great in theory, but in practicality it failed miserably. The woman was never alone! She shared a dressing room with all the other female chorus members, she always took her lunch break with some ridiculous person or another, and she always went home immediately after rehearsal. Erik supposed he could just follow her to her apartment or house or wherever it was she lived, but that would be risky in the daylight. He hoped it didn't come to that. But Heaven help him, if this lady continued to vex him so, he would sneak into her very bedroom if necessary! ...To observe. Nothing untoward, obviously. Or at least nothing more untoward than harmless stalking.

Alternatively, Erik could demand in a note that she be given her own private dressing room. That would at least leave her alone for a few minutes at a time. However, he didn't want the managers thinking that the phantom favored Helene. Not when the managers themselves already favored her far too much. The little minx. Her powers of seemingly innocent manipulation and her ambition seemed to know no bounds. In addition to occasional monetary bonuses, she had secured a few solos in the current production. Now, she was a fair singer. Erik admitted that. However, she was not better than most of the more mature and experienced sopranos. One of them should have gotten those lines to herself. However, the choice wasn't disastrous musically, so Erik let it go. He was still more concerned with that toad of a bass, to be honest. Helene's unfair progress was more a moral issue of principle. And Erik had never been a particularly principled man.

Apparently, Helene had never been a particularly principled woman, at least not when it came to men. Oh, she did nothing that would destroy her prospects or reputation; there was no physical contact more extreme than the occasional maddening kiss on the cheek or forehead, but Erik was convinced that the woman flirted more than the entire corps de ballet put together. Every day, it was:

"Oh, Pierre, darling, would you mind terribly grabbing my purse from the cloakroom?" And "darling" Pierre would smile and walk off like the dog he so obviously was. Or it was:

"My, maestro! That tie pin is absolutely dashing! You simply must give me fashion tips at your earliest convenience!" And two weeks later the temptress would have a solo she didn't really deserve. Alternatively, there was:

"Alexandre, would you be a prince and bring me that prop knife from the top shelf. I can't possibly reach it." This, perhaps, was excusable. Helene was shorter than the average woman, and she genuinely couldn't reach the top shelf. However, calling that oaf a prince was entirely ridiculous.

The woman was an utterly charming snake, and Erik couldn't decide whether he abhorred her for her methods or admired her for the fact that they were successful. She played people the way Erik played the violin. People just wanted to be kind to her, and Erik could never in a million years understand _why_. She was kind herself, he supposed, and Erik knew that people generally liked to be kind to kind people as long as they were normal and of similar social classes, but whenever she was sincerely being kind, it seemed as if she hid it away, as she had when she wanted to comfort little Sorelli. It didn't make any sense at all! And why on Earth were men so responsive to her flirtatious nature? She wasn't beautiful. Not even unusually pretty. She was the kind of pretty that all women are at her age, by virtue of youth, not of genetics or a particular sense of style. The only remotely striking thing about her was her coloring, and even that was just because red hair and green eyes made for a decently rare combination. Otherwise, she was a short, pale, fairly-pretty-but-certainly-not-beautiful woman. If she had been the belle of the opera house, Erik could understand why she would receive all the favor she did, but as things stood, she wasn't even the belle of the chorus girls. This cypher of a female was going to drive him mad.

The only relief Erik felt as he learned more about Helene was that his conclusions about the Jacques boy had been wrong. She was not, in fact, overly fond of the stagehand. She just treated all men like that. Erik told himself that this only pleased him because it proved him correct in his initial assessment of her character that afternoon by the cellar. She _had_ simply been a coquette. This, Erik thought, was a decidedly good thing. It meant that his ability to read people hadn't left him completely. He could still spot a lie a mile away. That was certainly the only reason Erik could ever find comfort in this discovery.

Erik was pulled from his quickly spiraling reverie by the sound of little Remy's voice. He was looking for Helene, and she came to him as soon as she could hear him calling.

"Mademoiselle Helene, I have a question," the boy said hesitantly.

"Of course, darling. What is it?" she asked gently as she bent at both her knees and back in order to meet the child on his level.

"Would you like me better if I were normal?" The boy looked down as he asked, some cruel incident or other clearly on his mind. Helene looked for a moment like she might ask what it was, but decided to simply answer his question instead. Perhaps she was finally beginning to understand that the boy didn't need to hash out every single one of his feelings every time he had a sympathetic listener.

"I like you quite a lot just the way you are, and if you had only one eye color, I think I would like you exactly the same, as long as nothing else about you changed. But I think that if you had been born with one eye color instead of two, you'd have a different personality. You'd be someone else, not the sweet Remy I know. I might not like you at all if the inside of you changed TOO much." Erik had to admit that was a good answer. She hadn't said she liked the child because of his deformity, but she hadn't said the lack of it would make him better either. Kudos to her for being tactful.

"That's the truth?" Remy asked. Helene responded in the affirmative, and Erik had to say that it did look like she was being entirely honest. Apparently she lied to everyone except children. Erik supposed that was at least something of a redeeming quality.

As Remy turned to leave, Helene asked him to wait, saying that she had a question for him now. Ah. Maybe she _was_ going to ask what had been on his mind. Maybe she wasn't learning what the boy really needed afterall.

"I've noticed that when Mademoiselle Vivienne tells her stories about the phantom, you never seem scared even though all the other children are. Can you tell me why?" ...Oh. Or she might ask about Erik. That was also a distinct possibility.

"Well, I know that those stories aren't true. I know that the phantom's nice." Remy knew Erik was the one leaving him treats? Erik had always assumed that the boy wouldn't question where the trinkets came from. The child was smarter than Erik gave him credit for.

"How do you know?" Helene asked with her eyebrows cocked in sincere surprise and bewilderment.

"He leaves me toys." From his pocket, Remy pulled out the little metal soldier that Erik had most recently left, and he proudly showed the prize to the stooped redhead.

"He left you this?"

"Yeah. He knows where I like to hide from Denis, and he leaves me things sometimes. He's a nice ghost. Or at least he's nice to me, so he can't be all bad."

"Thank you, Remy, for answering my question," Helene said after a moment used to collect her addled thoughts. She squeezed the boy's shoulder in a friendly gesture and rose again to her usual impeccable posture. The boy smiled and left the stage, presumably to find his mother.

"You're a saint to put up with him like that." Elise said to her redheaded friend as soon as the boy was gone. After almost two months of crying, even the newer chorus members had grown used to ignoring the poor little boy. Not because they were heartless, but because they knew that they couldn't fix his problems. You could try your hardest to comfort him one day, but even in the best of times the results only lasted about half a week. Everyone but Helene had all but abandoned the cause, and Erik waited grimly for the day that even her capacity for empathy waned away to nothing.

"No, not at all." Helene sighed. "I rather enjoy it. I've always been fond of children, you know. They're so much more honest than we are. The least I can do is try to keep them that way for as long as I can. And it really is awful the way that poor boy is treated. Just because his eyes are two different colors, of all the nonsensical reasons." Erik's eyes widened in undulating shock and excitement. Here was his Helene, being honest with another adult! Totally and completely honest, for once in her life! Erik eagerly awaited more information. Wait. His? Where the Devil had that come from?

Unfortunately, at that very moment, Helene turned to glance out at the auditorium and she _saw_ him. Damn it! Damn it to Hell! Erik had leaned forward and widened his eyes in excitement, and Helene had seen his eyes once before. She identified him easily! She knew where he was! She stared right at him, though Erik hoped fervently that she had only seen his eyes. He retreated quickly far back into the shadows once more, praying to a deity he didn't really believe in that she would think her own eyes played tricks on her.

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" Apparently both Erik and Helene had missed whatever Elise had said.

"I said, if you're so fond of children, you might think of settling down and having some of your own," the blonde said with a teasing grin.

"Oh, no! Me?" Helene laughed. "I enjoy the single life far too much! Men can be such fun, you know! And so useful!" Blast it. The redhead's walls were once again firmly in place. The honesty was gone for now, though what Erik had seen of it had been...well it had been _something_ pleasant. And she did have a very nice laugh, musical in a way. Erik sighed softly. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps watching her in his spare time wouldn't be enough to understand what exactly this woman was playing at. Perhaps he _could_ very well spend every waking moment spying on some woman he'd never even met. Heaven knew he'd done worse things. He supposed it was worth a try. Anything to understand this walking set of contradictions and enigmas. Only one thing was certain, and that was that Erik was in for a long and emotionally grueling couple of weeks.

 **A/N: Again, I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter in particular, so I would love to hear what you have to say about it. I just really want to become a decent writer, and I'll take all the help I can get. Thank you so much for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey pigeons! Here's chapter five! I'm not sure how I feel about it, and so I'd appreciate feedback. I'm just starting to doubt my actual story-telling capabilities.**

Erik was sick. Not physically ill, no, but he acknowledged that something was indeed horribly wrong. He hadn't left any of the scathing notes he'd meant to in the past week and a half, even though that amphibious bass was STILL mucking up the sound of the entire opera company. He hadn't checked any of his traps in _days_. There could very well be several rotting corpses dotted around his cellars for all he knew, and he just couldn't bring himself to _care._ Of course, he rather doubted that there would be so many uninvited visitors in such a short time, but that certainly didn't excuse his recent slovenly attitude. He hadn't even been working on his compositions as he used to! He found that he could bring himself to do any type of productive work whatsoever only after _she_ had left the building for the night, and he spent around a third of that time sleeping! He really did need his two or three hours a night, after all. All this trouble, and with what had he been rewarded? Learning that she liked children though she took no steps to have any of her own, deeply valued honesty though she didn't display it often, and that she had no sense of personal boundaries.

Oh, Erik knew how outside society worked. He understood how often people touched each other without even thinking about it. All the time, people brushed shoulders on the street, held hands to help ladies out of carriages, _kissed_ each other on the hand or cheek in greeting. It was enough to drive Erik mad. However, Helene touched people even more than the average French woman, and that was saying something! She was always placing her hand on someone's back to lead them in a certain direction or grabbing people's hands in what Erik believed to be false excitement. She especially loved to put her hand onto a man's upper arm while she congratulated him on a job well done or thanked him profusely for whatever little piece of her bidding he'd just completed.

Erik would freely admit that he was jealous. He had always been jealous of other men. After all, Erik had never held a lady's hand to help her from a carriage, and he'd certainly never given or received a kiss in any capacity whatsoever! However, he found that observing Helene caused his usual simmering jealousy to rise to a rolling boil. It was just that Erik had never been touched gently in his entire life, and here was this woman who seemed to touch absolutely everyone at absolutely all times, indiscriminately. Erik could scream just thinking about it.

He was pulled from his rapidly building rage by the sound of his target's voice.

"Oh yes, of course! I'd love to!" Wait! Love to what?! What had he missed? To whom was she even responding?

"Good! We'll see you after rehearsal on Friday then." Well, she had been speaking to Vivienne. That was a relief. Erik had irrationally feared that she might be talking to one of her many male "darlings." The plans were obviously for some kind of group arrangement, but that was all that Erik could discern at present. He really should learn to pay more attention. If he was going to waste his time attempting to understand the unfathomable, then he might as well at least put some real effort into it.

As it turned out, the group arrangement was a sleepover, of all the girlish nonsensical rubbish. The young ballerinas who stayed in the dormitories had offered to host a number of the younger chorus girls and costume seamstresses, Helene among them, for the night. They had chosen that Friday for the event because Saturday's rehearsal was scheduled to start two hours later than normal, so it was less likely that they'd oversleep. They'd begged Mme. Giry relentlessly until she agreed to allow them to buy cakes and to allow them to stay up as late as they wished for this one evening. Erik was surprised Antoinette had given in, to be honest, but Helene had apparently secretly agreed to drive the girls to bed at an at least semi-reasonable hour, and she and Antoinette had become friends. It would appear that Helene's powers of persuasion were not entirely limited to the male half of the species, Erik noted with a smirk.

As the Friday evening rehearsal came to a close, all the unmarried girls under the age of twenty-five gathered together to make their ways to the dormitories. Erik watched them go as he internally argued with himself as to whether or not to follow them. On the one hand, this could be a chance to gain great insight into the young female psyche, Helene's in particular. On the other hand, he would be spying on several young women in their bedrooms. Erik's moral compass wasn't a strong one, but it did exist. He decided to compromise with himself (perhaps he'd already gone mad. This was getting ridiculous.) and give them a half an hour to make themselves decent before he followed.

As he finally made his way to the dormitories, he overheard echoes of tittering laughter as the girls and ladies talked about the most _fascinating_ topics of boys and romance. Erik was immensely frustrated. He didn't care a whit whether Jacques or Pierre had the best hair or if Alexandre was sweeter than Adrian.

To Helene's credit, she had also been unusually silent on the subject, for which Erik was inexplicably thankful. However, his breath caught when her lack of opinion was noticed by Vivienne.

"Tell us, Helene, what do you think?" This was followed by a chorus of girlish agreement and demand to be informed. Erik couldn't deny that he was interested in her response as well, even though he grimaced in anticipation of what she might say.

"Oh, I don't really think anything about it. I'd rather let the men come to me than chase after them." What a diplomatic answer, avoiding disagreeing with any of the girls at all and simultaneously and unknowingly avoiding Erik's anger. She was a shrewd woman. Erik would give her that.

"Well then tell us what sort of man you'd like to chase you!" Vivienne replied with a friendly sort of impatience. Ah, the queen of the ballet rats was shrewd, too. Erik probably should have guessed that already. Perhaps he was loosing his edge as well as his work ethic.

"Well…" Helene paused and tilted her eyes to the ceiling in an attempt to find her words. "He would have to be kind, at least to people who deserve it, and he'd have to at least appreciate music and literature a little so that we could have something interesting to talk about. Um...I guess I like passionate men who know exactly what they want and who are brave enough to go after it. That impresses me. Oh, and he'd have to be hopelessly in love with me, of course. That's always a plus," the redhead finished her answer and looked around at the bewildered faces. Even Erik had to concede that that was not the sort of answer he had been expecting. She hadn't once mentioned money or a title or looks or even charm. Actually, her answer seemed very...emotionally practical, Erik supposed was the most fitting term.

Little Sorelli was the first to gather her wits about her and tried to lighten the mood again by asking the most obvious questions.

"Yes, that's all well and good, but what would he _look_ like? Would he be rich? Is there anyone special you have your eye on?"

"Oh, well, as for looks, I'm not sure. I suppose it would be useful if he were tall. I can't reach any of the top shelves in my apartment, and that's a lot of unnecessary wasted space. It's not all that important, though. I don't know...I tend to prefer dark hair, but I've nothing against blondes...Um, I guess I just don't care all that much, really... " Here she squinted as if trying to decipher her own thoughts on the subject. "As far as money goes, it would be nice if he made enough to support a few children, and I certainly wouldn't refuse a man just because he was rich, but I don't need to live in the lap of luxury in order to be happy." The room full of girls collectively looked at Helene as if she'd sprouted a third ear in the middle of her forehead. She noticed this and immediately reverted from her current philosophical musings back to her more acceptable playful and flirtatious persona. "And no, there isn't anyone special right now. We have so many pleasant fellows here at the opera, I could never choose just one!" This got the girls laughing again as they slowly but surely returned to discussing the merits of various stagehands and dancers.

Erik marveled over what he had just heard. Her answer had made perfect sense to him, but he'd never imagined any woman to actually feel that way. But she had just seemed so _honest_ , and she didn't seem to exhibit that virtue very often. Erik desperately wanted to know if she meant what she said, but how on Earth was he to go about finding out? For the moment, Erik could only sit dumfounded and listen to the remaining conversation, which now appeared to have temporarily exhausted the topic of comparisons of masculine virtue and turned instead to discussion of current opera events.

"Are you going to audition for a principle role in the next show, Helene?" Sorelli asked. "The managers like you. They might let you have a small one."

"Yes, I am going to audition. I don't expect a role, but the worst they can do is keep me where I am."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll do just fine!" Sorelli said with a friendly smile as Helene mustered a proper half-smile back.

"I hope so. I plan to stay late after rehearsal every day for the next month so I can practice on the stage. Maybe then I won't be so nervous for the actual audition." Wait! This was just what Erik had been waiting for! If Helene did indeed plan to stay late every day, that meant she would be alone! He could see how she behaved when she wasn't putting on an act for anybody. This would be perfect! Erik unconsciously smiled at all that he had learned this evening. He thanked his askew moral compass for allowing him to spy on a bedroom full of young girls and decided that he would return to his home for the night and leave them to their silly little party.

High pitched squeals and giggles followed him all the way into the second cellar as he contemplated his next steps. He would learn who his Helene really was and he would put this little mystery to bed once and for all. Then maybe he could finally slip back into his old comfortable routine and end this ridiculous goose chase. Erik smirked as he headed toward his coffin for a well deserved rest, and he dreamed pleasant dreams that he wouldn't remember in the morning of a certain redheaded soprano.

 **A/N: Well, there it was! I hope it wasn't too abominable! Please tell me what you thought so that I can make myself a better writer. I have the ridiculous notion that I'd like to be published someday and have actual books in actual bookstores, but I'm not sure I'm anywhere near good enough. Was the sleepover a bad idea? Did I manage to make it work ok? What would you have done differently? Please let me know!**


	6. Chapter 6

For the past week, Erik had been observing Helene's secret little practice sessions every night, watching her sing by herself for hours in his attempt to learn to read her. Unfortunately, these evenings proved less informative than he had hoped regarding Helene's character and inner thoughts. As it turned out, most people weren't prone to speaking aloud when they assumed no one was there to listen. What a revelation.

Those few things she did say to herself never revealed anything about her innermost thoughts. All he had managed to overhear were small snippets of what she thought of the music or her current performance of it. It was all little things like "no, that's not right," or "am I even a little bit capable of singing this cadenza?" or "hmmm, passable but not great." Erik supposed he could admire her determination and steadfastness, at least, and he had learned that she was, in fact, able to experience some measure of self-doubt, but otherwise all this extra time was getting him nowhere.

Frankly, she wasn't getting anywhere fast either. She had made some progress in her knowledge of the specific musical pieces she practiced, of course, and this had helped smooth out her overall performance of those pieces, but her technical improvement was minimal. In Erik's opinion, even the word "minimal" was being rather generous. The woman just wasn't capable of correcting all of her own mistakes. She either couldn't hear them or didn't know how to fix them, and it limited her voice greatly. She also couldn't play the accompaniment and sing to her fullest potential at the same time, so she had been attempting to divide her rehearsal time between acknowledgedly mediocre singing with accompaniment and deliberate singing a capella. It just wasn't working in her favor at all, and, unfortunately for her, she did not have the raw talent or vocal potential to skate by with minimal technical ability. There was almost no way she would ever be a prima donna, and to gain even smaller principal roles she would have to work with superhuman diligence. And she would need a skilled accompanist and, most of all, a teacher.

Ah. There was an interesting idea. Erik could easily be both of those things, if she would let him. And talk to him _honestly_. She needed to improve her skill; he needed to understand her thoughts. They each had something the other wanted. It would be a perfect business arrangement, but _how_ to approach her? Erik didn't want her to run from him, and he certainly didn't want her to be too frightened to continue her solo practice sessions. This would have to be approached delicately. Let's see...she was ambitious. Erik could use that to his advantage, appealing to her desire for professional advancement and social acclaim. She also wasn't afraid of the phantom, or at least she hadn't been the last time they "met." It was possible she wouldn't run at all, if Erik was careful with his wording and tone and didn't seem overly eager or menacing. He would need to think about this carefully and quickly in order to secure time with her before auditions were too close and it was too late for his instruction to make a difference.

Erik watched Helene for the next two days, trying to find the perfect moment to approach her with his proposition. His lucky day finally came when she fumbled so terribly flat on the high note of a certain piece that she sighed, her shoulders sagged, and she felt the need to sit on the edge of the stage for a moment.

"Helene…" Erik threw his voice so that it came from backstage left instead of where he was hiding in the orchestra pit.

"Who's there?!" Helene's eyes widened in shock that she wasn't alone. She was more embarrassed to be caught singing poorly after hours than she was frightened by the idea of being alone with a strange male voice. Erik found that particular reaction interesting.

"I've been watching you practice for some time now, and I think I can help you."

"How?" This was also interesting. Her concern with who he was dropped as soon as she thought she could gain some sort of benefit from him.

"You need a vocal coach. You can't find all of your musical flaws on your own, and you don't have the technical knowledge to fix them, even if you could identify them. You could also use an accompanist." Helene didn't so much as bristle at his blunt assessment of her musical skills. She obviously knew she wasn't anything supremely special. Not vocally, anyway. "I could fill both of those roles for you."

"Why would you do that for me?" Helene narrowed her eyes in shrewd calculation as she asked for his terms of agreement. Erik smiled at her quick business wit.

"Ah, well nothing is ever free, Mademoiselle. I do have some conditions of payment." Erik enjoyed this teasing banter, even if it was just business. It had been years since he had talked to anyone in person. Well, anyone except the Daroga, but he didn't seem to count somehow. Perhaps it was because he wasn't a woman. Or because he wasn't French. Or because their conversations usually consisted of unwelcome queries into Erik's illegal activities followed by empty threats on the Persian's life. His train of thought was interrupted when Helene finally answered him. She was apparently trying to figure out his motivations as much as he was trying to figure out hers. This symmetry pleased Erik. Their little relationship wasn't so one-sided anymore.

"I don't know what you mean by conditions. I don't make enough money to pay for a vocal coach, and I absolutely refuse to do anything... _untoward_ with you in exchange for help." Well, there was a piece of her moral compass. Flirtation was fine but she would do nothing she considered improper. Erik found that this pleased him as well.

"Oh, no, Mademoiselle! That's not what I mean at all! All I would ask in exchange for my assistance and tutelage would be a half hour of conversation after every lesson, during which time you must be entirely _honest_ or there's no deal. You must also refrain from attempting to see me or telling anyone about our partnership." Erik had deliberated these terms with himself for a while, so he knew exactly what he wanted. Helene's eyes widened considerably and she blinked several times. Clearly this was not at all what she had been expecting.

"You only want to talk to me? Who are you, Monsieur? Your voice is not familiar to me, and I'm certain I know everybody in the opera. Why can't I ever see you? I don't understand." Wasn't it just like a woman to ask so many questions at once? Or at least, Erik thought it was. It wasn't as if he had a great wealth of experience to draw on considering the subject.

"Yes. I only want to talk to you. As for who I am, I'm offended that you haven't guessed. We have met once before, though I admit you did most of the talking. Something inane about lighting a lamp, if I recall correctly," Erik said with a smirk.

"You're the one they call the phantom." It was a statement, not a question, though she seemed rather calm considering she was conversing with the ruling resident ghost.

"That I am. Are you not afraid?"

"I assume that if you wanted to harm me you would have done so by now, and a close friend of mine told me that the phantom is _nice_." She smirked as she referenced Remy. Erik couldn't decide whether to laugh at her teasing or leave in a huff at her insolence. He ultimately chose noncommittal words.

"Well, I do admit that I have some sense of justice. I'm benevolent to people I think deserve it."

"So you think I deserve your favor?" Ugh. There she was, twisting his words. Or perhaps he had done that for her.

"I'm also benevolent to people I simply find intriguing, Helene." He nearly rolled his eyes at having to explain his way out of an admission he wasn't sure he wanted to make.

"You seem to have me at a disadvantage, Monsieur Fantome. You know my name, but I don't know yours." She smirked again.

"And it shall remain that way. You may call me Monsieur or Maestro," he said stiffly.

"Oh, come now, Fantome, _darling_ -"

"Don't you dare call me that!" Erik yelled automatically, forgetting to throw his voice. He had never been called by an endearment in all his life. He wasn't about to let it start with such an obvious attempt at flirtatious manipulation. However, even through her shock, Helene had heard now that he was in the orchestra pit, and she looked in his general direction, barely able to make out his glowing yellow eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said honestly, furrowing her brow in a sympathetic expression. "I didn't mean to offend you. I was trying to be playful. I'll not call you that again, but I would still like a real name to call you. Even ghosts have names, you know, and I'm rather certain you're not actually a ghost." She explained herself calmly and did not shiver or shrink away from him in fear as most others would have. She was either very brave or she had a bizarre death wish.

"You can't know I'm not a ghost!" He said defensively "...But you're … forgiven, Mademoiselle," Erik said, not bothering to throw his voice anymore now that she had spotted him. "I've just noticed that that particular word is the one you use to get the stagehands and other males to do what you want. I'm not some dog of a boy that you can sweet talk into being your slave. My emotions are not to be played with. Every single word out of your mouth must be entirely honest and free of attempts like that if we are to do business." Erik fervently hoped that he had made himself clear without frightening her. He knew himself and how he thought of women. He knew just how vulnerable he would be to her if she pretended to enjoy his company, if she tried even a little bit to charm him, but he also knew what her angle was and understood how she typically got what she wanted. His walls were high and well-built. She wouldn't get to his emotions with all the false flattery in the world. He would rather die than allow her to break his heart so easily.

"I understand, sir," she said in a professional manner, "but I must have a name to call you or there is no deal." Damn. She knew how much he wanted this, possibly because of how quick he was to forgive her faux pas and lack of superstition. She had figured out that neither of them truly had an upper hand in this arrangement. Erik sighed in resignation.

"You may call me Erik." Helene smiled at this small piece of personal information.

"Mmmm. Meaning 'eternal king.' It suits you," she said, her eyes twinkling in an absolutely arresting manner that Erik had never seen before. Apparently she didn't know that his name could also mean "eternally alone." Or maybe she was just being tactful.

"Now that you have my name, do we have a deal, Mademoiselle?" Erik was impatient to get this over with. It was quite late already, and he had wanted their first lesson, and real conversation, to be tonight. Helene smiled deviously and quirked one pale eyebrow.

"Yes. I think we shall get along famously, Erik." An unexpected thrill went through him at hearing her speak his name aloud. No woman had said his name at all since he was a very small boy, and, even then, none had ever said it as if they were pleased to know it. Erik swallowed quickly a few times in an attempt to ease his suddenly dry mouth and throat. That failing, he cleared his throat as quietly as he could and hoped she didn't notice.

"Well then, Helene, I suggest we begin immediately."

"With pleasure, Erik," she said with a bemused grin. Damn. He had not anticipated this...this...well whatever this was. He was beginning to doubt the wisdom of this endeavor, and it was to last for at least the next three weeks! Erik bent his head to the piano keys in an effort to concentrate and forced his long fingers to play the intro to her easiest aria.

 **A/N: Finally, they meet! What do you guys think? Do you even want more of this story? I'm not seeing a lot of response, and I'm questioning whether or not this is worth it.**


	7. Chapter 7

The first two weeks of their odd partnership had gone by all too quickly for Erik. The first couple of nights had been awkward. He hadn't known what questions to ask her and had been emotionally reactive when she tried to ask him questions. After all, Erik hadn't been given an abundance of opportunities to practice cordial and polite conversation, especially with women. However, Erik prided himself on being a quick learner and Helene was an extremely socially adept person, so almost all traces of discomfort between them were gone by the end of their third evening together.

Erik was thrilled with all that Helene had revealed to him so far. They had started with silly extraneous details, such as her favorite color (which was green) and her favorite musical instrument (which, Erik was pleased to learn, was the violin, one of Erik's favorites, second only to the pipe organ). After their initial mutual trepidation had finally disappeared, they moved on to discussing opera events and people, Remy in particular. They bonded over their shared affection for the boy and enjoyed planning fun little surprises for him together. It had been so long since Erik had collaborated with anyone on anything! Not since the construction of the opera house had he enjoyed any sort of productive partnership.

Erik found all of this interaction very pleasant, even if he felt he still didn't know enough about Helene as a person. He wanted to know the core of her being, to understand the makeup of her very soul, and that simply wasn't to be accomplished in two weeks. Or, Erik was beginning to fear, in three. What was he to do once auditions were over and their deal was terminated? How was he to function without her conversation, without her friendly smile and occasional benevolent laughter? He certainly didn't wish to return to stalking about behind walls and through ceilings. It wouldn't be nearly enough contact to finish learning her personality as thoroughly as he needed. He would have to start work on a contingency plan.

Erik regained focus on the present moment when Helene made her vocal entrance into the piece he was currently playing. She had certainly improved over the past weeks, but she could never possess the raw talent that was needed to totally succeed in this business. With another week of tutelage, she stood a chance of being awarded a very small principal role in less musically complicated productions, but even that much wouldn't be a sure thing. Unless, of course, Erik intervened. Wait! No! He couldn't intervene like that! He would be compromising the music! Why would he even dare to think such a thing? ...But it would make Helene so very happy. Erik gritted his teeth and grimaced at the unwelcome turn of his thoughts as Helene finished her aria adequately enough.

"That was perfectly decent, Helene. I think we can stop for this evening," Erik said as the final echoes of the piano died away.

"Perfectly decent? High praise indeed, Monsieur," Helene said with a sarcastic half of a smile.

"It is when it comes from me, my dear," Erik fired back without missing a beat.

"Oh, so you are allowed to call me 'dear,' but I am not allowed to call you 'darling?' How is that fair?" she asked playfully.

Erik's heart nearly stopped. He hadn't meant to call her that. Why _would_ he call her that? He hadn't used endearments since he left Persia, and even there he had used them almost exclusively to mock those who feared him. The words had just slipped out. It seemed so _natural_ to call her dear, perhaps because she used endearments so often herself, though admittedly never with Erik. Her bad habits must be rubbing off on him. It was the only reasonable explanation.

"When you say them to me, you don't mean them," Erik said sadly when he finally remembered to respond to her question.

"And you do mean them?" Helene raised her eyebrows and placed one hand upon her hip in demonstration of a challenge. The woman was maddening!

"I am not the one who's contractually bound to be honest with my every word, Helene!" Erik said defensively.

Helene allowed her hand to fall to her side and furrowed her brow at him, attempting to discern his true motives, Erik supposed. It wouldn't do her any good considering that _Erik_ didn't even understand his true motives, but she was welcome to try. She quickly gave up, being that she couldn't see any part of him other than his iridescent eyes, and she sat down calmly near the front of the stage.

Erik sighed in relief at the return to their usual routine. Erik began, as he always did, with a silly and tawdry question to ease them out of rehearsal and into conversation.

"What's your favorite flower, Helene?"

"I usually tell people they're roses, but seeing as you've demanded that I be so _honest_ , water lilies are actually my favorites." She had a knack for being both friendly and scathing at the same time, and Erik found it both charming and infuriating.

"Why would you lie about something so trivial?" Yes, maybe they would really get somewhere with this conversation. Maybe he would learn her motives for her frequent little deceptions!

"Well, usually, when a man asks me that question, he is planning on buying me flowers. Roses are my second favorite, and one can't very well make a bouquet out of water lilies, so the little lie is just easier for everyone. The man can be proud that he got me my 'favorite' flowers and I don't have to answer a second question about my second-favorite flower." Oh, well that was very...logical. Did she think so clearly about everything? Were all her motives so benign? No, surely not. Otherwise she wouldn't manipulate the stagehands so. And so many men wouldn't want to buy her flowers. Erik sneered at the thought.

"What are your favorite flowers, Erik?" Ah. He must have forgotten to talk again. She was highly adept at reminding him that the real world existed. Erik appreciated that.

"I actually do prefer roses. They have thorns." Helene giggled at his blunt answer, and Erik found himself grinning like an idiot in response. Thank Heaven she couldn't see him.

"Thistles are similarly prickly. Why roses?" She asked with an adorable amused crinkle of her nose. Her face was very expressive when she allowed it to be. Erik found this ... pleasantly distracting was the most appropriate term he could think of.

"Because roses have thorns even though they're _beautiful_." He hadn't planned on revealing so much of himself during these conversations. He would need to change the subject soon.

"Oh, so you enjoy their inherent contradiction?" she asked with genuine interest. Of course she didn't read further into his statement. She didn't know how hideous he was. He would never allow her to know.

"Indeed I do," Erik said simply by way of ending the discussion on this topic. He lead with another question, one a bit more loaded, that had been nagging at him for months now.

"When you first came to the opera house, I noticed that you immediately tried to become friends with the managers, the conductor, and the ballet mistress. I understand your motivations for the first two. We both know you're a greedy little temptress," Erik said in an affectionate tone so she would not be offended, "but why Mme. Giry? Do you have some secret ballet ambition I am unaware of?" Helene actually _blushed_ at his question. Erik had been watching the woman for months and had never once seen her blush before! What about his question could possibly warrant such a reaction? And, as odd as it was, Erik did find the color … appealing on her. Quite becoming, really, considering the pink should by all means have clashed with her hair.

"Actually, for a while, I thought she might be you." What? Erik didn't understand what that meant.

"Me?"

"Well, she was always the one to deliver the phantom's notes and she cleaned box five even though she never cleaned anything else." Ah, Helene meant that she thought Antoinette might be the phantom. That made sense in a darkly humorous sort of way.

"I see. And you thought that, if she liked you, she would use the phantom's power to further your career." The ambitious and shrewd little minx.

"Yes," she said with no hint of shame.

Hmm, perhaps Erik should intervene on her behalf. If she wanted so badly for the phantom to help her, then he could do all sorts of...No! There was artistic integrity to think of! Erik silently fumed at his traitorous mind. Suddenly, he knew what his next question should be. He had wanted to ask it from the beginning but had always avoided it out of fear. He needed it now. She seemed to take her vow of honesty very seriously, and her sincere answer to this question would inevitably anger Erik into never doing her any phantom-y favors.

"I once overheard in a conversation that you cared more about a man's personality than his looks, riches, or social standing. How true was that?" Erik braced himself for the coming pain. Even if he harbored no stupid delusions about Helene falling madly in love with him, it still hurt to hear that any woman cared so much for looks. It was a terrible reminder of the ridiculously cruel twist of fate that kept him from all happiness.

"You spied on the ballet dormitories?!" Helene was nearly scandalized. Apparently she had assumed that Erik was a moral man. Silly girl.

"I never spied on anything indecent! Only conversation!" He defended himself quickly. Just because he wasn't a moral man didn't mean he didn't want Helene to think he was...for some reason. "And I will ask the questions here, Mademoiselle!" Helene rolled her eyes and cocked one eyebrow in his general direction, but she did answer his question.

"Very." ...Erik was lost.

"Very what?"

"You asked how true my statement was. It was very true." Damn. Well. This had backfired.

"You don't care at all what a man looks like? Truly?" Erik asked in astonishment. Helene sighed.

"If I marry a man, we're both going to get old and ugly eventually anyway. In the long run, I'd rather marry a man I can be happy with forever, regardless of his face." Oh God. She had no way of knowing just how that particular phrasing would affect Erik. He began to feel wet spots on the inside of his mask, running down from his eye sockets. He closed his eyes in an attempt to regain some form of calm. Of course, with his glowing oculars hidden, she could no longer see him.

"Erik? Are you still there?" Was it his imagination that she sounded rather distressed at the thought that he'd left?

"Yes, my dear. I'm here." Double damn! There was that ridiculous endearment again, _and_ his voice sounded strained with emotion. He couldn't very well help it, but he mentally berated himself just the same.

"Are you alright?" She seemed genuinely concerned. She began to rise to her feet as if she would try to come to him.

"I'm fine!" Erik said hurriedly. There was no need for her to stumble about in the dark trying to find him, and _absolutely_ no need for her to find him shaking like the most foolish leaf to ever exist. "Though I find that I must cut our meeting short this evening. We can make up the time tomorrow." He needed to end this conversation, clear his head.

"Um, alright...before you go, though, I have one favor to ask of you, please, Erik." What could it be? Did she know the power she wielded over him at the current moment? Would she use it to her advantage? Erik wasn't sure he would be able to deny her anything in his present condition. He felt utterly ridiculous, but he couldn't seem to stop it.

"I know that my vocal progress has been much more than I ever could have managed on my own in two years, let alone two weeks, but I also know that I'm still nowhere near phenomenal. I understand that the audition could go either way for me. Would you please not use your influence on the managers? I want to do this on my own." Erik blinked in shock. Had she read his mind? How had she known of his irrational thoughts? And why would she try to stop him? It was so unlike her.

"You've never had qualms about this sort of thing before. Why now?"

"There are two reasons. The first is that, though I took premature pay raises and small solo lines that I didn't deserve, I've never once taken money from someone else who deserved it more than me. The raises came from the managers' pockets, and I frankly think that they have too much money anyway, and the solo lines didn't come with increased pay of their own. The principle roles, however, do come with pay raises, and I won't steal money from my fellow performers." Ah. Another moral boundary. Fascinating.

"And the second reason?" Erik asked with distracted interest.

"It's hard to explain, really. I suppose it's that those things came from the managers and conductor liking me. I made them like me, and so I rightfully reaped the benefits. If you interfered on my behalf, the benefit would come from their fear of you instead of anything I did. Does that make any sense at all?" Helene smiled at her own irregular thinking.

Erik half-wanted to argue that the benefit would come from her making him like her, but that would give away too many of his currently tumultuous emotions, so he simply agreed to her strange request instead.

"In a twisted way, it makes plenty of sense. I'll not intervene on your behalf. If you receive a role, it will be because you earned it."

"Thank you, Erik," she smiled widely at him. Oh, her smile was lovely.

Oh, Erik had to stop talking to her!

"If that is all, I will see you tomorrow, Mademoiselle."

"Of course. Good night, Erik." She was still smiling, even as she donned her cloak to leave.

"Good night, Helene," Erik said with a bit more tenderness than he had meant to. But it wasn't good night, not for Erik, because that evening was the first time that Erik followed Helene home. Not so that he could spy on her or discover where she lived, but because he was suddenly afraid that something awful might happen to her. How had he been so foolish before? To allow her to walk home _by herself_ in the night on the streets of Paris?! He'd been a reckless brute! No. Tonight, and from now on, she would be safe. He owed her at least that much, after all, as a proper gentleman. Any gentleman would do the same. It meant absolutely nothing regarding his feelings. Nothing at all.

 **A/N: What did you think? How am I handling Erik's POV? Are his feelings believable? Let me know, and thanks for reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I'm back! I apologize for the delay, my lovelies. Graduate School applications were awful little time-suckers. You shan't need to worry about them any more.**

The last week of his little rehearsal sessions with Helene had been tortuously blissful for Erik. His emotions vacillated wildly between bemoaning the imminent termination of their relationship and an intense determination to fully enjoy what little time he had left. He had asked as many important questions as he could think of, and he'd learned that she did believe in God, that she had lived on her own from the age of seventeen when her mother succumbed to consumption, that it hadn't occurred to her to get married because she felt she was an orphan with no prospects and nothing to offer a husband, and that she had loved before but had never been _in love_. Apparently that was an important distinction, though Erik couldn't really understand why.

In addition to the big questions, he had glutted himself on learning all the trivial details of her that he could think of. Her favourite season was Winter, she had a much-too-intense fondness for chocolates, and her favorite animals were horses though she felt that the animal she would be if she were one would be a falcon. It was almost ridiculous all the extemporaneous details that Erik knew about her. It was _absolutely_ ridiculous how important they all seemed to him. It was as if, with every answered question, he became that much closer to understanding the foundations of her being, even if the question was something silly about her least favorite color to wear (which was pink because it clashed with her hair). It wasn't important at all, didn't mean a thing about her character or soul, but Erik found that he treasured the knowledge just the same, simply because it was a part of her.

Erik had accepted that his feelings for Helene were no longer based on fervent curiosity and confusion. He found that he was downright _fond_ of the woman, not the same fondness he felt for Remy and utterly unlike the appreciation that he had for Gustave or Antoinette. This feeling was fundamentally different from any he had felt before, and as such he couldn't possibly be expected to identify it. He needed to keep her safe, he wanted to make her smile, and he treasured the time they had together, but there was more to it. Some unidentifiable pieces that simply wouldn't fit into any terms Erik could name. She just made him so _happy_ , an emotion that had been almost entirely foreign to Erik until recently. Yes, he had felt proud and satisfied before, occasionally even content, but never happy. Especially not in the giddy and playful way Helene had introduced to him. And all of that would be taken away from him the instant auditions were over and she didn't need him anymore. Erik wasn't sure he could go back to simply watching again, not when he knew what it was to _interact_. Like the human being he suddenly wanted to be instead of the ghost he told himself he was. What was he going to do?

When the day of auditions arrived, Erik found Helene running through her pieces for a last-minute practice in the _chapel_ of all places. Erik smirked. Perhaps she assumed God didn't mind her using His space if there was no other similarly secluded alternative. Erik rather thought that God, if He existed, shouldn't care. It's not as if He was using the room at the moment.

When she finished her song, Erik called her name, softly, so as not to frighten her.

"Helene…" Her eyes widened in surprise for an instant before she broke into a smile. Could it be that she was happy to see Erik? Or, well, hear him?

"Is that you Erik, or are you trying to convince me that God has deigned to speak to me directly?" she asked with a playful smirk of her own.

"Yes, yes, you're quite humorous, Helene," Erik said with a smile on his face but mock impatience in his voice, "and here, all I wanted was to give you my well wishes. My, how ungrateful you are!"

"Oh, come now, you know you enjoy my teasing. And thank you for your well wishes. I fear I shall need them," she said in all seriousness. To be entirely honest, she was right. Her voice was not at all good enough to guarantee her a principal spot. She stood a chance, but it was a coin toss at best.

"Well, whatever the outcome today, my dear, will you come to the stage tonight for one last time to tell me about it?" Erik asked with a touch of vulnerability. He had come to accept that he would call her dear. It just seemed natural to do so, and he wasn't about to deny the impulse when he might never be able to speak to her directly again. She gave a small smile.

"Of course, Erik. I'll be glad to." Oh, good! He was to see her for one more evening! For that, at least, Erik was thankful.

Erik had some trouble keeping himself away from the auditions that afternoon. He wanted to see how his girl did, but he was afraid that, if it looked like she would be denied, he would be tempted to intervene on her behalf. In order to avoid breaking the only promise he'd ever made to her, he locked himself in his parlor and took turns pacing the room and staring uselessly at the keys of his organ, waiting furtively for the company to vacate the building.

When the bothersome throng was finally gone, Erik made his way to the orchestra pit for what could be the last truly pleasant evening he'd ever have. He'd tried desperately hard in the past week to figure out another reason for Helene to speak to him, but he had absolutely nothing to offer her. With auditions over, she would no longer need voice lessons to further her career, especially if she was given a role. She loved music, but she appreciated the art of it more than she cared to produce it herself. She knew her voice was pleasant without being extraordinary, and she had no illusions about what artistic heights she could realistically achieve. She wouldn't care to continue lessons just to better her own craft without any guarantee of some other kind of reward. What else could Erik give her in exchange for her company? He had money, yes, but he wasn't about to _pay_ a woman just to talk to him. She wasn't a conversational prostitute, and she would likely be offended that he offered financial compensation for any sort of company anyway. The only thing Erik had other than money and music was himself, and _that_ certainly wasn't enough to tempt her into spending time with him. He had nothing worthy to give. What was he going to do?

When he made it to the auditorium, he saw Helene sitting downstage center, curled into a ball with her knees to her chest. She seemed to be deep in thought, though she didn't seem unusually emotional in either a positive or negative direction. Erik had no way of knowing whether she had received a role or not, and he impatiently cursed her stoicism.

"Helene, I'm here." Her head shot up and she pointed a gentle smile in his direction. Erik found himself returning it even though she could never in a million years see the expression.

"Good evening, Erik," she said warmly.

"Please, no pleasantries, my dear! I am breathless with anticipation. How did the auditions go?" Erik didn't know whether "breathless with anticipation" was a playful exaggeration or an accurate description. However, any trace of merriment vanished when Helene's face fell ever so slightly.

"The managers decided that the soprano principle roles this season will go to Satine and Colette. I am to be second understudy." Erik didn't know what to feel. He wanted to comfort Helene because she was disheartened, he was angry at the managers for making her feel this way, he contemplated orchestrating coups against both Satine and Colette just to let Helene have a part, but, underneath all of that, there was a sick and selfish part of him that was happy. If Helene didn't yet have a principle role, then she would audition again come next season. She could still use voice lessons.

"I am very sorry to hear that, my dear. If it is so important to you, I could always help you along. I promised not to, but that can change if you like." Ah, there he was, undermining every bit of artistic integrity he'd ever had just to wipe that slight frown off her face. When had anybody's personal feelings become more important than music?

"No, Erik. That's kind of you to offer, but the decision was fair. Satine and Colette both have seniority over me, and they are a bit more technically skilled. Besides, they're nice women. I won't take their success away from them. I'm manipulative, not malicious." She smirked as she tried to lighten the mood. That was his strong girl, pretending to keep her spirits up, even if it was only for Erik.

"Well, the good news is that you can audition again next season. Our arrangement can continue as it has been. I renew my original offer of voice lessons and piano accompaniment in exchange for honest conversation, Mademoiselle." Erik deliberately infused his tone with mock formality, trying fervently to make his Helene smile again. And, to his satisfaction, she did. It wasn't as radiant an expression as it usually was, but it was a genuine smile nonetheless.

"The offer is appealing, Monsieur Fantome, but I find that the old terms are now disagreeable to me." What? Erik felt his heart crack painfully. She wished to end their meetings? Even though Erik could still help her career? She didn't enjoy the conversations as he had? As he had hoped and thought that she had as well? She had been kind to him out of contractual obligation only, and now even feeding her ambition wasn't worth enduring his abhorrent company? All her friendliness had been another of her manipulative _lies_? No! Erik could not accept that!

"Wh-what on Earth could you p-p-possibly mean, Helene?" There was his nervous stutter. It hadn't affected him since he was in the freak show. What a time for it to reappear! Helene's brow furrowed and she raised her head to look for his glowing irises.

"Erik, are you alright? I only meant I'd like to re-discuss a certain condition. I didn't know they were so precious to you." Oh, thank nonexistent God! She was not leaving him. She was just _negotiating_ , trying to get all she could out of the deal, the vixen. What more could she possibly want from him, though? Erik was as perplexed as he was relieved.

"Which condition is that, my lady?" Erik had regained his composure as soon as he knew she would consent to speak to him again. For the first time, Erik understood just how much power he allowed Helene to hold over him. It couldn't possibly be healthy. He would have to remedy that. However, at that precise moment, Helene gave an absolutely adorable blush, and Erik forgot why exactly he would ever want to escape from her in the first place.

"The one about not seeing you." Oh, no.

"That one is non-negotiable, mademoiselle. My apologies, but you can never see me." He would not show her why others feared him. She would not run away from his bony hands, his intimidating height, his skeletal build, and especially not his disconcerting mask. He would never give her that opportunity. If she saw him she would leave!

"If I am to continue taking lessons, it won't be from a voice and two candle-eyes in the dark. I will see my teacher. _That_ , sir, is non-negotiable." The minx! She knew he needed their meetings much more than she did! Erik had no idea how she knew, but she knew! What does one do with an impossible decision? Erik understood how this would end. If she truly refused to budge in her ultimatum, he would have no choice but to concede defeat. He couldn't bear to give up her presence if he had any other sort of viable option. Perhaps he could convince her to relent.

"Surely there's something else you would accept as a replacement, Helene. I could get you a private dressing room, or I could double your lesson time at no extra charge." Helene seemed highly unimpressed. "I could write you specialized audition pieces to show off the best of your voice!" That last one was the highest trump card he had to play. Erik knew it would appeal to her ambition and perhaps to whatever vanity she had. If she refused this, he would have no choice but to allow her to see him and so ruin what little happiness he had found. Erik held his breath as she appeared to consider his offer.

After what to Erik seemed an hour, she finally raised her head and firmly stated:

"I said _non-negotiable_ , sir."

Damn it.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: This chapter is just a little bit shorter than the others. I had originally planned to combine it with the next chapter (which you'll see in two days), but that ended up being insufferably long, so I had to split them. I hope you enjoy it anyway!**

Once he had safely, and secretly, seen Helene home on the evening following auditions, Erik had just under twenty-four hours to make himself presentable before their next lesson. How on this damnable planet was he supposed to do that? He couldn't treat it like going into the streets. The cloak and hat he typically wore to conceal his mask were clearly meant to be worn outside and only really worked for fleeting interactions anyway. If Helene was going to see him nearly every evening and converse with him like he wanted, she was going to have ample chances to visually examine him. She would see through all of his usual disguises in a heartbeat. He didn't have nearly enough time to construct a truly passable prosthetic mask. He would have to use one of his existing cloth or porcelain options. There was simply no way he would be able to appear even remotely normal.

He decided he would wear the fawn-painted porcelain mask. It was an appropriate color for a human face and it was sculpted to give the illusion of a nose. That was as close to a real face as he would be able to come on such short notice. He would dress impeccably, as always, and he would of course wear his leather gloves. He hardly ever took them off anymore. He hated looking at his scarred and unusually long hands, and the smell of them had gotten worse as of late. Yes, they would have to stay hidden. His suits were all tailored to mask his skeletal frame, so that wouldn't be an issue, and the only remaining problem was his height. The average man was about 178 centimeters. Erik was just over 200. Perhaps it wouldn't be noticeable if Erik stayed in the orchestra pit and Helene remained on stage. After all, that was their usual arrangement. She would be perched so high above him that it might be difficult for her to tell how tall he was, especially with no other men around to draw a comparison.

Erik smiled tensely. He would only really need to worry about the mask. True, it was the biggest of his problems in the first place, but having a plan certainly made him feel more secure. By no means did he look forward to revealing himself, but he wasn't quite as terrified by the prospect as he had been. He pocketed the little present he had picked up for his student and started on his way to their first face-to-sham-of-a-face meeting.

When he arrived, Helene was impatiently pacing the stage with her arms locked behind her back. Erik smirked at her unladylike behavior and noticed with an unsettling swell of affection how rosy the activity had made her cheeks. Her pale skin was much too prone to blushing from either emotion or physical exertion. It was … becoming, Erik supposed. He decided to put her out of her misery by announcing his presence.

"Do you plan to wear a hole through the stage floor?" Instead of uttering the expected sassy retort, Helene broke into the most dazzling smile Erik had ever seen her wear.

"Erik! I was beginning to think I had frightened you off with my stubborn demands." She sounded so … relieved. And that gorgeous smile had been for _him_. She was so happy because she was seeing _Erik_. He gaped like a fish for a moment or two before he remembered how to properly function.

"Of-of course not, my dear." He babbled as he recovered. "As _inconvenient_ as I find your stubborn streak, I am not one to back down from a challenge." Well, he actually had briefly considered backing down, but she didn't need to know that.

"I'm glad. Now, please light the orchestra lamps so I can see you." Well, it could never be said that she beat around the bush. Erik rolled his eyes and took a minute to steel himself against her possible adverse reaction before illuminating the space, and he made sure to keep his back to her as he slowly lit every single lamp. When he no longer had an excuse to do otherwise, he reluctantly turned to face her. What a strange expression that was. To _face_ her. Erik would have chuckled if he hadn't been in a blind panic.

"There now, that wasn't so terrible was it?" Helene said automatically, as if she had rehearsed this moment. And then she really looked at him. Her right eyebrow rose as she took in the mask, but she made no comment. She had undoubtedly heard the stories of what the phantom looked like. She could probably fathom a pretty decent guess as to why he wore it. However, after a moment, she smiled at him in just the same way she had been for the past weeks. "I'm glad to finally see you, Erik," she said with an uncommon gentleness of tone.

Erik unclenched the fists he hadn't realized were balled up at his sides, released the breath he had unknowingly been holding, and simply looked at her for a few seconds, partially because he was in awe of her reaction and partially because he needed to carefully evaluate her sincerity. He knew she was a liar, but she mustn't lie _to him_ , and especially not about this. When he determined that he was as sure of her honesty as he possibly could be, he slowly made his way toward the stage.

"I brought you your second-favourite flower, mademoiselle," he said in a smooth voice that covered his remaining nervousness. He flourished his hand and made the rose appear out of nowhere, which was a convenient euphemism for the inner lining of his suit jacket. Helene beamed with delight at both the present and the simple magic trick.

"Oh, why thank you, Erik! You remembered!" Of course he remembered, the silly girl. He remembered everything she'd ever told him. She stooped on the stage to take the gift from him, frowning for a fraction of a second when she noticed his gloves. She retrieved her composure quickly, however, and smelled the flower politely. "It's lovely," she smiled.

"It's my pleasure, my dear. Now, would you like to get on with your lesson? I've brought a few different pieces I thought would sound well in your voice." Erik handed her some copies of the sheet music and made his way to the piano.

"Of course, maestro." And so they continued her education as usual, Erik's tension lessening with every second spent in the established pattern of interaction.

When their lesson time for the evening was up, Helene grabbed her flower and made her way to the stairs at the side of the stage.

"Where are you going? You still owe me a half-hour of conversation, you know." Erik was concerned that she was now running away from him, leaving once she had gotten what she wanted out of the deal.

"I'm aware," she giggled. "I'm coming down to be with you." Erik's eyes widened. She couldn't be so close to him! She would notice something awful! He was sure of it!

"Oh, you n-needn't do that, Helene. You've always spoken to me from the stage before."

"Yes, but now that I can see you, I'd like to be on your level. It's so uncomfortable having to crane my neck just to look at you properly." So she made her way down to the pit, and Erik stood from the piano bench as a proper gentleman does when a lady enters the space. Then Helene realized how very tall he was. At her diminutive height, she barely came to the shoulders of most men. She came to Erik's ribs.

Her eyes widened in what Erik hoped was only surprise and she softly said "oh … I suppose I shall have to crane my neck anyway." She sat gracefully on one of the musician's chairs and gestured for Erik to resume his place on the piano bench.

After a few awkward moments, they quickly fell into their old patterns, with Erik asking any questions he could think of and Helene answering him good-naturedly while occasionally firing his own questions back at him. He learned that, while she had never traveled extensively, she had seen the ocean once and had become immediately enthralled with it, that she would have been a sailor if she had been a man, that she would have become a university professor if she had been a man and had also been born into a wealthy family, and that Bach, though she recognized his genius, was her least favorite composer. She simply disliked Baroque music in general, as she thought it ignored the emotional components of music in favor of the structural. She was correct, of course. That had been the very point of most music of that period, but Erik still marveled over the structural engineering of Bach's fugues, and that had set off an intriguing discussion on the purpose of music. Erik had a grand time.

There were moments, however, when Erik found her new proximity … distracting. Being this physically close to her was glorious but it also clouded his mind beyond recognition. He couldn't even really define why he thought it glorious. This near to her, he could … well, he could smell her, as odd as it sounded. It wasn't as if he _tried_ to. He simply _could_. She smelled of lavender, parchment, and some unidentifiable component that Erik assumed was simply Helene. It was … well, it was quite pleasant if Erik were honest with himself. He found himself occasionally breathing deeper than he normally would and he would consequently briefly forget the flow of their conversation. Fortunately, he was usually able to recover his train of thought rather quickly, so he fervently hoped that Helene was unaware of his idiotic difficulty.

When their conversation time had come to an end, Erik followed Helene home, as he usually did, to ensure her safety. During the walk, he went over the evening's events in his mind. He truly had had a wonderful time. The conversation had been stimulating, she hadn't mentioned his mask, and she had seemed pleased with both his presence and his present. Erik smiled at the small bit of mental wordplay as his house came into view. How had he gotten back to the fifth cellar so quickly?

Erik stepped into his foyer with a grin on his face, but his expression promptly fell as he glanced around his home. It was just so … quiet. So abysmally dark and silent when compared to the sparkling presence he had just shared. When he built the house, he had thought the solitude a virtue of the structure, but now it seemed a terrible flaw. It was practically a giant prison cell, a dungeon. And, what's worse, a dungeon that smelled only of himself, a curious blend of sealing wax, sandalwood, and inescapable misery. It was awful. Sighing, Erik readied himself for an evening of composition as he attempted to come up with a way to remedy the unfortunate state of his house.

 **A/N: Hope you liked it! For my American readers, the heights are: about 5' 10" for Erik's perception of average men and about 6' 7" for Erik himself.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, my lovelies! In the past weeks, I've received a new job, had a birthday, and scheduled far too many holiday celebrations to keep my head on straight. Life should be considerably less tumultuous now, though, so chapters will hopefully be coming much faster. In the mean time, I hope you enjoy this little piece of the story!**

Erik had spent the last three weeks in a constant vacillation of exhausting emotional upheaval. During the short hours he spent teaching and speaking to Helene, and during those times when his will broke down and he followed her through the opera's walls, he was deliriously happy, serene, Erik would call it almost peaceful, though he wasn't tangibly familiar enough with that particular adjective to use it confidently. However, during those days when he managed to stay home composing, and especially when he returned to his house every evening, he was plunged into the most abject misery he had ever known. That should have been an exaggeration, considering those years he'd spent locked in a literal cage, but Erik found that it was completely true.

When he'd been a freak, he had been secure in the knowledge that everyone had always hated him and would always hate him. The solitude had been a very welcome respite from the abhorrence of the rest of society, even if that solitude was found inside a cell of iron bars. Now, that security was taken away. Helene didn't hate him. She didn't stay out of a sense of obligation like the Daroga, nor did she stay out of fear and superstition like Antionette. Perhaps she partially stayed out of greed, but Erik truly believed that there was at least some part of her that genuinely cared about him. She saw him, knew that he was abnormal, but spoke candidly to him and sat beside him, less than an arm's length away, every evening.

Erik was practically addicted to the feeling, to having another human being enjoy his company while he enjoyed hers. It was incredibly simple, a pattern of interaction that others took entirely for granted, but Erik had never known it without some sort of string attached. The closest he had come had been the Daroga, who interacted with Erik mostly in order to make sure Erik didn't become a serial killer, the ridiculous booby, and he always made sure to stay quite far from Erik, physically speaking. That might have been because Erik had wrapped his lasso around the Persian's throat twice, but that was really no excuse to treat a friend like a common criminal. But Erik was slipping away from the topic at hand.

The original point of this spiraling vortex of thought was that Erik now found his empty, silent, dark house unbearable. If Helene didn't find his company abominable, then there was no reason for him to bury himself beneath five floors' worth of dirt. He shouldn't have to be quite so alone. However, he also wouldn't dare to live above ground. Helene didn't hate him, but he was convinced that that reflected an anomaly somewhere in her psyche rather than a change in the feelings of society as a whole. There was something wrong with that redhead, and Erik shamelessly profited from it. But how to avoid the crash that inevitably came when he returned to silence after an evening of sparkling conversation?

The only solution Erik could see was to have her come with him, to visit with him in his home, but that was, at best, wildly inappropriate. How on Earth could he ever dare to make such an invitation, and more importantly, how could he frame it so that she would accept?

Erik could find a pleasing way to spin the scenario. He could make it seem entirely natural for a young woman to accompany a man to his home unchaperoned. Erik was, after all, a very clever man. He could perhaps say that the acoustics and superior availability and quality of instruments found in his home would be more conducive to Helene's lessons. It wouldn't be a lie. If he became desperate enough, he could cut the wires of the orchestra's piano. It would force Helene to come to his home for musical accompaniment or forfeit her lessons for at least a few days while the instrument was repaired. It wasn't the most noble course of action, but, as a last resort, Erik didn't find it as repugnant as he probably should have.

He could stress the convenience of, perhaps, staying with him a few nights a week, on the days when rehearsal ended particularly late or began particularly early the next morning. That would describe almost all of the week after next, it being the week before opening night of the current production. It was improper, scandalous even, but he could just maybe make Helene forget about that.

She lived alone and always stayed later than everyone else anyway. It wasn't as if anyone would notice she didn't return home at the end of the day. Her reputation would remain entirely intact. She tended to favour practicality over societal norms. It was possible she wouldn't even care about propriety, not for something as innocent as a singing lesson. He certainly wasn't planning anything truly wrong. He would never hurt her.

Yes, this could work. It could also frighten her and undo months' worth of progress on their relationship, but faint heart never won fair lady. Erik smirked at that thought. It was utterly ridiculous on multiple levels. This entire situation was utterly ridiculous on multiple levels. The opera ghost wanted a house guest. It was absurd … but it was real, and there was nothing Erik could possibly do to return anything to normal. Frankly, he found he didn't remotely want to. ...Yes, this could work. It would have to.

Erik waited a couple of days for the perfect opportunity to make his proposition. It came on an evening following a particularly long rehearsal, when Helene had obviously been worked beyond her limits. After Erik had greeted her as cooly and naturally as he could under the circumstances, he deliberately chose the most difficult piece for her to attempt. Of course, she failed quite miserably. Over and over again. All the while, Erik feigned disappointment and hid his perverse glee. Finally, Erik nearly applauded as Helene's shoulders sagged and she sat on the edge of the stage as she gave up.

"I'm sorry Erik. I simply do not have the faculty of mind or body to perform this piece up to your standards at the moment. I'm exhausted." She raised her eyes to him and furrowed her brow in a plea for sympathy. It was almost enough to make Erik feel guilty.

"I am quite sorry to hear that, Helene. With the opening looming ever closer, the rehearsals will only get longer in the next two weeks. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Perhaps we can work on the easier pieces until the schedule becomes easier?" Oh, she had noticed his deliberate difficult choice. He needed to think on his feet!

"Now, my dear, if we only work on the easier pieces, how will you ever truly improve?" Yes, that was good. Answer her with a question. She sighed and looked away.

"I'm afraid I don't know what else to do. I won't improve if I work on pieces that are too difficult for me to process." She was going to talk herself out of the deal before he even proposed it if he wasn't careful. It was now or never.

"Helene, perhaps I could offer an alternative solution. One that wouldn't leave you quite so tired at the end of the day." She raised an eyebrow to indicate she was intrigued.

"And what sort of solution would that be, sir?"

"You could sleep here, in the opera house, instead of returning home each evening. It would give you at least an extra hour and a half of sleep, since you could retire earlier and wake later." His voice trembled ever so slightly as he said this. In her current state, she probably didn't notice.

"And where exactly would I sleep in the opera house? I can't sleep in the ballet dormitories, and I can't stay in the dressing rooms. I would need access to a bath and a bed, at the very least, and there aren't any here."

"There are under ground." She looked exceptionally confused. "In the cellars, I mean." Her eyes flew open wide. Ah, there it was. Comprehension.

"Erik, you can't possibly be suggesting I stay with you." He tried very hard not to be offended.

"Well why on Earth not, Helene? It's perfectly practical. I could accomodate you for a week or two with no trouble at all. It would be most convenient. I have a guest bedroom and a guest bathroom you could use." Well, actually, he had a storage room and an extra room with basic plumbing that had been necessary for the routing of the pipes, but he could turn them into acceptable guest quarters if he had a few days of notice.

"Erik, I can't stay for days in an unmarried man's house alone with him." Her eyebrows dropped as she glared at him.

"I'm not a man. I'm a ghost." He smirked smugly. Helene simply rolled her eyes.

"Erik, you're a _man_." Erik stared at her as he was lost in thought for a moment. No one had ever actually called him a man before. He had many names: demon, angel, corpse, magician, assassin, and so on, but nothing that acknowledged his humanity. His mother had called him _boy_ occasionally, but he found that that was quite different from _man_. He was happy to be called a man, but he very rarely felt like one. He wasn't sure what he _did_ feel like, but it wasn't anything nearly as benign as a man. The feeling coursing through him at Helene's blunt assessment was … a complicated emotion, to say the least.

"Erik, I don't mean to offend you. It's not that I would dislike staying with you. It's just that it's so _wrong_." Helene pulled Erik out of his reverie. He smirked beneath his mask. Her wording had been perfect, and he now knew exactly how to appeal to her.

"Yes, but _why_ is it wrong? _Who_ exactly says it is wrong? We won't do anything but have singing lessons, supper, perhaps tea, and sleep, which we will do in seperate rooms. I'll not so much as touch your pinky finger if I'm not invited to. Does that truly seem so _wrong_ to you? It certainly doesn't to me." Helene sighed.

"Well, no, that in and of itself isn't wrong, Erik, but to stay the night, and both of us single, it's, well, it's not at all respectable."

"But no one would know!" Erik began to lose his carefully constructed facade of nonchalance. "You live alone! No one would miss you! You always leave later than everyone else, and you could begin to arrive earlier if we take up this arrangement. The vast majority of Paris doesn't even admit my existence. Do you really think they'll conclude that you're bedding the opera ghost?!" Her eyes widened at his tirade. He'd never used language that course in front of her before. He sheepishly lowered his gaze. He should have found a gentler euphemism. Her eyes narrowed in shrewd calculation.

"How did you know I live alone?" Oh ... or she hadn't been at all affected by his sexual innuendo and instead she had caught him in his stalking. That was ... worse. Erik's impeccable posture melted into a submissive hunch.

"I, er, um, that is, I may have, perhaps, sort of, followed you home on a few occasions." Erik nearly whispered.

"WHAT?! What did you see? What were you _looking_ to see?! Do I even want to know?!" She stood on the stage, her previous exhaustion fleeing in the face of her indignant fury.

"No no no! Nothing like that! I never looked in your windows or anything! I just followed you to your building is all."

"But _why_?!"

"I had to make sure you were safe! It was late at night, Paris is a large city, you're a woman. I couldn't let you be alone! Your route isn't even very well-lit, Helene!" Her expression softened, but only slightly.

"If your motives were so decent, why didn't you tell me your plans?" She asked skeptically.

"I thought you would try to see me. I started before this stage in our little business arrangement."

"And after I had already seen you, why didn't you tell me then?"

"Because I thought you would react like this! I don't fear many things in this world, Helene, but I am not ashamed to admit that your anger is one of them!" In addition to her disdain, her fear, her disgust, even her indifference ... perhaps he did fear many things in this world, he thought with a morose, morbid humor.

"Why?" She looked utterly nonplussed.

"To keep you safe! I've just told you that…"

"No. I mean why would you be afraid of my anger. It's not as if I could ever hurt you. I'm convinced you could snap me in half if you were so inclined." Oh. She didn't know. How could she not know?! She had to see how dependent he was upon her company, had to understand how important her opinion of him was. She was too socially adept to _not know_. Erik narrowed his eyes at her, contemplating his next move in this absurd chess game they were playing. He decided on a return to his original strategy. He had to get back to playing his game, not hers.

"We're getting distracted, my dear. The original topic of debate was why it was so wrong for you to stay with me for a week or two. I've shown you that you don't think it wrong, and I certainly don't think it wrong. Only society thinks it wrong, and none of them will ever know if we're careful enough, which I will promise to ensure upon pain of death if you like. It would improve the quality of your lessons, and it would help your performance on stage. There's no logical reason you shouldn't stay with me." There. He had her in check. She prided herself on her use of logic. She wouldn't refuse him as long as he was rational. Even so, she considered his argument for a very long moment, battling between her ambition, her sudden distrust, and perhaps even a bit of her affection before giving her answer.

"We can try, Erik, but the minute I dislike the arrangement, it's over. And, so help me, if you are anything even remotely shy of a proper gentleman, even just once, I will never speak to you again, and I might very well poison you." She should have been joking, but she certainly didn't seem like she was.

"I've never done anything like that in the past, now have I?" Erik tried to cover both his glee at her acceptance and his dejectedness over his clear loss of some of her trust.

"Well, how would I know? You've lied to me before. Who knows what you've seen or done." Erik's shoulders sagged that much more, but he reminded himself of his small victory of the evening and gloried in the chance he now had to earn her trust and small affection back.

"I shall prove to you that my intentions are entirely honourable, mademoiselle." He slipped back into formality in an attempt to ease her into comfort again. "I shall require a few days to ready the guest quarters. Does staying with me beginning on Monday evening sound permissible to you?"

"I suppose it's as good a time as any." She said dismissively.

"Good, then you'll not have a lesson tomorrow and we'll cut today's short. You may retire for the evening now, if you like. Enjoy your time off." He replied curtly, but with a hint of warmth. Helene gathered her cloak and her bag in preparation for her departure.

"Will you be following me this evening?"

"If you'll allow me." She deliberated for a minute or so before answering.

"It would make me feel safer," she finally said hesitantly. Erik beamed beneath his mask. She, at the very least, trusted him to keep her safe from street criminals. That was some small amount of reassurance.

"Then I'll be delighted, mademoiselle."

And so he saw her safely to her apartment, as he had been, six days a week, for months now, but this time it was a little different. Her posture was more relaxed. Her eyes darted in and out of the shadows less than they had before. And, oh the bliss of forgiveness, she turned and smiled out to the street, to _him_ , just before she entered the door. Then, oh the pain of suspicion, she drew the shade on every single window as soon as she entered her apartment. Well, Erik would show her how he valued her. He would demonstrate his benevolence until she could never doubt his intentions again. He made his way home as he began to plan the preparation of his very first guest room, of what Erik knew he would come to think of as Helene's room, and that thought diminished the cold that he normally felt as he entered his cellar, even if only ever so slightly.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Happy New Year, my lovelies! I thought I'd start it off right with a new chapter! I hope you enjoy it!**

When Erik returned to his home that evening, he noted the welcome absence of the loneliness he had come to expect. The house was as grave and silent as ever, but it now seemed alight with a wealth of new possibilities. When he looked at his nearly empty cupboards, he instead saw the shelves filled with everything Helene would need ... and all the chocolate she could ever ask for. Perhaps that was indulgent of him, but she had to be happy in this house. She had to be happy _with him_. And if it took a steady diet of chocolate to accomplish that miracle, then so be it.

He moved to his library, where he looked upon rows and rows of medical tomes and technical architectural books, but he envisioned sharing the space with Helene. Half the shelves would be occupied by her favorite gothic and classical novels as well as poetry that perhaps they could read aloud to each other. He'd never cared much for the stuff before, thinking it ludicrous that words would ever even attempt to mimic music, but he would adore poetry more than any other literary pursuit in the world if he and Helene could share it. He had discovered that the presence of another person with whom he had some amount of mutual admiration almost always enhanced his enjoyment of an activity. Any activity. Everything was better when it was shared. Hmm...if he got rid of that chair, then he and she would have no choice but to share the sofa. That could be pleasant...but no. She was already skittish about staying with him. He'd do better not to push any kind of physical closeness too soon.

He meandered through the other rooms of his house, noting that the parlour was acceptable as it was, but that it could do with a dusting. He would also need to procure quite a lot of firewood. When had he run out? How long had it been since he'd used the fireplace instead of a couple of candles? He honestly couldn't remember. Huh. Well, the dining room would need the same treatment as the parlour, but otherwise would be just fine. He obviously didn't need to touch his bedroom or bathing area, as she would never see them. There wasn't so very much work to be done, after all. Oh, but the torture chamber! That little window would have to be hidden much better than it currently was, especially since it was in the storage room that would become hers! He would have to accomplish that tonight!

With that thought, he moved into the quarters that would need the most work. He glanced around the storage area, drawing and redrawing plans in his mind for the most beautiful room he could design (which, by extension, of course, would be the most beautiful room anyone could design, Erik being as aesthetically talented as he was). It would be entirely customized to Helene's preferences and character! She would be absolutely delighted with it!

The room that would be her bathing room would need a little more technical work, which he resolved to do that very evening. He doubted Helene had ever seen an indoor plumbing system before. They only existed in the relatively new houses of the obscenely rich. And in Erik's house, of course. He'd even come up with a way to heat the water before it came out of the bath faucet by running the pipe around a thermal vent about two stories below the level of the house. He'd discovered the vent's existence while swimming in his lake and just knew he could use it. As far as he was aware, no other building was equipped with such a luxury, and it was one of the very few inventions Erik was actually proud of. He grinned as he thought of showing it off to Helene, and then he promptly grimaced as he thought of her practical use of it.

He coughed and quickly set about his work, and he did not stop until the bath and sink were both fully functional and the walls of both rooms were smoothed over and all evidences of a torture chamber (and all thoughts of Helene in a bath) were completely wiped from reality… or at least hidden so well that no one but Erik would ever be able to find them.

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Early the next morning, Erik donned his most life-like mask, his high-collared cloak, and his wide-brimmed hat in preparation for a few hours of necessary interaction with humanity. He began by making expedited orders for all the furniture for Helene's bedroom. She would need a bed, obviously, and a desk, as well as a wardrobe. Erik was filling out all the paper forms for the models he deemed most suitable when he saw a vanity across the shop. Erik had forgotten about that. She would need a vanity, and she would want a full-length mirror. Erik's house had never had a mirror before. How on Earth would he continue to avoid seeing himself? He deliberated silently for quite some time (much too much time for the comfort of the shopkeeper, who was clearly anxious to have such a strange man out of his business), but in the end Erik knew he would have to give her a mirror. She deserved one. She would undoubtedly want to see herself every day, and Erik couldn't possibly blame her for that. After all, he wanted to see her every day. With that final order, and the shopkeeper's assurance that everything would be ready by Monday morning, Erik made his way to the dressmaker's.

He had pilfered Helene's file from the costume department and was therefore equipped with all of her measurements, though he didn't fully understand the disorganized system the opera seamstresses had in place. Luckily for him, the dressmaker did understand, and luckily for her, she stopped asking annoying and probing questions when Erik flaunted his wad of francs. He commissioned as many dresses as he thought Helene would need to begin with, day dresses, night dresses, a few evening gowns, all in her favourite greens, browns, blues, and purples. And he couldn't resist buying one red dress.

Helene had once said that she hated reds because her hair looked a shocking sort of orange in comparison, but Erik imagined Helene in this particular shade and was struck with how gorgeous she would be. It would set off her eyes and her pale skin perfectly, and her hair would most certainly not look _orange_. If anything, it would be a highlighted sunset of colours. Erik was momentarily shocked at this line of thinking. When had he started to think of Helene in such a manner? He steeled himself, and took an emotional step back to take another mental look at her. No, she was still a short, red-haired, green-eyed, pretty-but-not-really-beautiful woman. Perhaps the red _would_ make her hair a little orange, or wash out her skin, or bring too much attention to those green eyes. He blinked as he proudly found some sort of objectivity again...and promptly bought the red dress anyway, supposedly as a reminder not to lose himself like that ever again.

After arranging to pick up the speedily altered clothing on Monday, and after commanding the dressmaker to add in whatever undergarments she thought necessary to complete a proper lady's closet (how would Erik know what to get, after all, and he wasn't sure his fragile state of mind could handle contemplating that particular subject at any rate), Erik moved on to decorative and miscellaneous items. He chose some paint, a few carpets, necessary grooming tools, towels, bedding, everything that Helene could possibly want or need, all hand-picked to be pleasing to her. He found perfumes and shampoos in scents of rose and lavender, and even one soap that smelled of water lilies. He smiled as he thought of her reaction. He also found that he had a weakness for buying whatever absurd little knickknack struck him as appropriate. A painting of horses in a field, a journal with a cover depicting an ocean scene, several books he thought she would enjoy, the list went on and on.

He had to physically stop himself from entering the jeweler's. That would certainly be a sign of too much effort. She would become suspicious of him. Erik glanced at the small mountain of packages he had acquired over the course of the day and felt like a perfectly twitterpated fool. All this just to keep one woman's company? And when the word _company_ wasn't even a euphemism? It was ludicrous. But when you have far too much money and far too few people to share with, and when you've never been allowed to openly give anyone anything, maybe you have a certain right to give everything to that singular wonderful exception. And with that reassurance in his heart, Erik dragged his small mountain down five cellars and set about decorating Helene's chambers.

By Monday afternoon, Erik's house was prepared to receive its very first invited guest. Helene's quarters had been painted in swirling cool colours to remind her of the sea she loved, her bedspread was done in shades of her favourite emerald green, and she would be utterly surrounded by beauty and comfort. The rest of the house had been polished until it sparkled, the pantry was fully stocked, and there were even a few bouquets of roses in the parlour and library. Erik almost smiled at his handiwork. Helene would, at the very least, not hate his little cave. Erik plucked one rose from the end table and began ascending to the main floor, where he would impatiently wait for rehearsal to end for the evening.

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Erik watched with gritted teeth as Helene spoke with Pierre, the last person in the building, and her current favourite "darling." He was an insufferable boy, really, Pierre. Tall, handsome, gentle in his speech, and with all the grace that was expected from the leading male dancer. And honestly, just how long could one person make inane small talk? It must have been at least a half an hour. Erik could strangle the little whelp, or at least have him promptly fired. But, then again, why would Erik do that? He'd never cared particularly about the ballet before, and Pierre was an incredibly competent dancer who never made trouble. His recent disdain for the boy felt misplaced. Erik thought for a brief moment that he might just hate the attention the boy was stealing from Helene, but that would make Erik even more ridiculous and pathetic than he'd thought, and that was entirely unacceptable. He was pulled from this uncomfortable self-examination when the conversation lulled and drew to a close.

"You're certain you don't want me to walk you home, Helene?" Erik's hands tensed on the wall. The boy was trying to steal his job!

"Oh, thank you darling, but no. As sweet of you as it is, I plan to stay to practice for at least another hour, and I couldn't possibly keep you so late. I wouldn't dare risk compromising your performance tomorrow!" Helene said with a hand laid gently upon Pierre's forearm. Erik fairly growled.

"I wouldn't mind. How could I sleep, knowing you might be in danger?" Pierre replied earnestly. Well, at least the boy wasn't a complete moron, Erik admitted. Helene sighed.

"Well if it means that much to you, I'll stay the night here. With Mme. Giry." Helene said with a roll of her eyes but a softening smile. It was disturbing how easily lying came to her, really.

"Promise?"

"I promise I'll stay safe this evening." Helene raised her right hand in a mock oath. What she said was technically the truth, Erik mused. That was interesting. Did she find promises so important?

With a final searching stare into her eyes, and a maddening kiss to her knuckles, Pierre bid Helene a good evening and _at long last_ left the building.

"Are you finally ready to go, Helene?" Erik asked with annoyance as he emerged from beyond the wall and presented Helene with her rose. Helene merely giggled. Somehow, Erik found the sound a bit less enchanting than he usually did.

"Can I help it if a man wants to see me safely home, Erik? At least he asked my permission first," she said pointedly. Ooh, Erik didn't have a good response to that, so he instead jerked his head and wordlessly indicated that she should follow him. With a satisfied smirk, she hoisted an overnight bag onto her shoulder, which Erik took from her with a begrudging huff. After all, he was still a gentleman.

"Oh, come now, Erik. You surely don't plan to be sullen all evening. And over what? A conversation that ran too long? It is nothing!" She said playfully.

"Flirting with the head bailarino is not _nothing_ , Helene."

"Then what is it to you, Erik?" Her voice had become incredibly serious, soft but demanding acknowledgement all the same. Her eyebrows quirked with her question. She didn't seem confused; rather, she seemed to want him to say something very specific. Was this manipulation? Erik drew in a long breath to answer her question as they stepped deeper and deeper into the cellars.

"It is a most unnecessary distraction, a waste of time. He isn't at all worthy of your attention." Helene smirked.

"His position in the opera and in society is higher than mine. He's a gentleman, he's kind, and I find him charming. If he's not worthy of my attention, who is?" Erik didn't have an acceptable answer. He couldn't claim to be worthy himself, not in the slightest, and he couldn't possibly name anyone else. He simply gave an exasperated sigh and walked faster. It brought him a certain perverse joy to know that, given their height difference, Helene's little legs would practically have to jog to keep up with his new pace.

Helene rolled her eyes and, in an apparent effort to regulate his speed, laced her arms through the crook of his left elbow, as if they were a normal couple walking along a normal street on a normal day, and Erik nearly had a decidedly abnormal heart attack. She had never touched him before. No one had touched him in _years_ , and even then no one had ever touched him _gently_. Even through his suit jacket, his skin understood the faint pressure of her fingertips, and he fancied that, if he concentrated hard enough, he could feel life-giving warmth radiating from the spot. He didn't notice that he was staring at her hands until she cleared her throat. As he returned his gaze to her face, she gave him a small, knowing smile, and softly tugged his arm forward. When had he stopped walking? He continued to automatically lead her down the well-known path to his home as his thoughts wreaked havoc on his aching brain.

That smile. She knew what was happening. Understood much more of it than he did, that was utterly certain. The little minx knew exactly what she was doing, and she likely always had. During their last conversation, when she had seemed genuinely confused about his feelings, had that all been an act? It almost had to be, but to what end? What could she possibly be planning? How vigilant would he have to be in order to keep from falling into whatever web she was weaving? And how awful would it truly be to fall in? He glanced back down at the delicate hand resting on his arm. Would it be so terrible? If this was a manipulation, was it worth succumbing in order to keep her company, her smiles, and now, perhaps, her touches? What was her endgame? What did she ultimately want from him, and where was the line that he wouldn't allow her to cross? What wouldn't he be willing to give her? Erik didn't have satisfactory answers to any of those questions, but he was temporarily saved from his torment as the lake finally came into view.

"It's beautiful!" Helene smiled a real smile this time. Erik gave a small, unseen smile in return as he climbed into the boat and tentatively offered Helene his gloved hand to aid her in doing the same. She took it with no hesitation whatsoever, sending Erik's mind reeling again as he began to row them across the water.

Just what kind of game had he gotten himself into?

 **A/N: A small note: I know that, in certain canon, Christine's room is furnished with Erik's mother's furniture. However, given the timeline of this story, I thought it made more sense for Erik to buy Helene's furniture. This story takes place 20-30 years before Leroux's book, so Erik's mother is probably still alive, and therefore she has probably kept her furniture. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please, let me know what you liked and what you didn't! -Love, Vitaani**


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